A New League
by TheBatKid
Summary: Two years have passed since Tobias's mysterious disappearance, and he has continued to evade police ever since. Where did the child go? What did he do after? And, more importantly, why would he ever need the Batman's help? (Sequel to The Hooded Nightmare.)
1. Sitting

A New League

Two years. It felt longer. Bruce sat back in his mansion reminiscing the days he would turn on the news and hear about something other than his son, how his disappearance was continuing to baffle police but they wouldn't close the case. With a glass of scotch in one hand and the remote in the other, he flicked aimlessly through the various news channels in front of him, wondering whether two years had changed the boy he once knew.

Tobias had been quick to make himself disappear. As soon as he left that graveyard there had been no trace of him. Police tried following the interstates and motorways, but nothing came out of it. They attempted to go to various hiding places and even arrested his old co-conspirators, the infamous Riddler and Harley Quinn, though they hadn't been able to answer their questions. For all they knew, Tobias had been dead. The thought of his living sent shivers down their spines, remembering his unique ability to hold grudges.

But none of that mattered; the subject at hand, however, did. Nightmare hadn't been forgotten. Even then when people spoke about him, they took a second to look over their shoulder, whispering in hushed tones to pass on news that hadn't yet been reported, granted some were complete rumours thought up by bored housewives on a lonely day in. Tobias would have been proud about some of them, repulsed by others. Ah, but that was the way of the world.

Bruce brought his scotch to his lips again, quite possibly the only thing that would make him forget. The days ticked by into months, the months into years, and he felt that each passing second brought his son further away from the land he once lived in. His legacy unforgotten, his physicality gone.

"The drink again, sir?" Alfred asked as he wandered into the room, that unimpressed scowl on his face whenever he found his master drinking, "It's been a while since your last one?"

"Long enough." He could hardly stand to look at the pristine man beside him, wearing his trademark white gloves and the appropriate suit, who kept his eyes locked on the half-slumped billionaire as the fireplace crackled and the television continued with its report.

"Another one?" the butler frowned when he saw Tobias's hooded face on screen, the message underneath about his apparent disappearance and reciting a collection of well-known rumours. Conspiracies, more like.

"Yep."

"It's about time they lay this whole business to rest. Tobias isn't coming back to Gotham," Bruce tensed as he spoke but refused to let the thought settle, refused to believe he would never see his son again, "They're chasing shadows."

The glass touched his lips once more, "I wonder where he is." Alfred didn't want to turn to the billionaire sprawled in his favourite red armchair, instead choosing to busy himself with clearing away the enterprise's documents and dusting the cabinets they sat on. They had had the same discussion many times. It was a repeating record that Pennyworth couldn't quite stop from playing, and one that he wished would finally pass from existence.

"Perhaps he's settled down at a nice family home?" he suggested whilst filing the folders, "Perhaps he attends a school in a remote village? Somewhere away from televisions, of course."

They could picture it in their minds – an idyllic little countryside where the sheep lumbered about, the trees grew in luscious orchards and the children were permitted to play outside, with the classic cobbled roads that ran down tiny streets and the semi-detached houses that lay side-by-side, so close that everyone knew each other. They imagined Tobias teaching his new family how to fend for themselves if they were ever in a dangerous city, what with his expertise and their acceptance that his past was not a good one, though the ludicrous nature of their thoughts never came to mind. Bruce knew deep down that his son would never settle for a normal home-life, especially in a place so tranquil. It just wasn't Tobias.

"Perhaps," was all he replied, eyes glued onto the television screen as the blue background flicked up with some actual news. Some sort of riot that was expected to break out when a new game was released, yet not important enough to take more than five minutes of screen time before they went on the next political debate. He sighed. Wasn't anyone happy anymore?

"That lovely Miss Hammond called back for you. I told her that you were busy on a new design," Alfred mentioned with a hope that it would get his mind off things, namely the little boy they hadn't seen in years, "Can I suggest that you make time for her again? You did seem so right with her on your arm, Master Bruce."

The secret vigilante let a flicker of a smile fall on his face as he brought the glass to his lips again, noting how Alfred was trying to get his mind away from the television and on his other great love – women. He had been dating throughout those two years, though never with anything more than a few trophy girlfriends and one misjudged phoenix of a fling, yet Carmen Hammond was something else. With pouting ruby red lips and fiery red hair, the only thing that she didn't have amongst her curvy figure and natural sex appeal was patience, which worked out to be her downfall with Bruce. She wasn't used to waiting for someone. She would, of course, but only to an extent.

"I'll think about it," he answered after what seemed like an age of silence. He leaned forward to place his glass on the coffee table in front of him, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands as he listened to Alfred's droning voice.

"She's really quite a lady, Master Bruce. I don't think she's appreciative of your constant cancellations, especially after that night you two shared in Paris – a night you paid for, I'm sure."

Oh yes, he certainly remembered that evening.

"It would be best if you get back to calling her right away, before she finds herself another suitor with more time on his hands. I would understand if it were Batman-related happenings that called you away sir, but it's your own projects that you stay behind for."

Could he really blame him? The projects in his designing room were the only things that kept him going sometimes, particularly when the memory of Tobias's bloody throat played on his thoughts.

"I'm sure you wouldn't want her to get away. It would be a terrible shame to have to find yourself another fine lady such as her sir, though it might seem quite easy to pick up those silly little poppets you call girlfriends."

Suddenly, the billionaire called for his attention. He leaned forward in his seat as the butler turned to look at him, his eyes wide as he pointed to the bright television screen and Vicki Vale's pretty face. Alfred sighed; he wasn't fond of that girl, but for his own reasons.

"What is it?" he brought himself to stand beside the leather armchair, hands clasped behind his back as his eyes stayed respectably locked onto the television, "Oh, another report about young Tobias. What's wrong with that?"

"Not a report! It's a sighting!"

True enough, the blonde woman on screen was bobbing away whilst she reported the gripping piece of journalism. Her eyes were practically glittering with each word that dropped out of her cherry red lips, the force of her excitement barely contained behind that white blouse and grey pants suit.

"It's been reported that not an hour ago, there was the first sighting in two years of the Hooded Nightmare," a picture came up depicting a typical rooftop, highlighted only by the silvery tint of the moon whilst the stars twinkled above it. The only strange thing was the black shape that sort of resembled a person on the edge, a 'hand' outstretched to reveal a glinting metal as the still frame continued to show and the voiceover came on, "This picture was taken at nine PM tonight, a mere hour ago, and is believed to be the Hooded Nightmare's return after two years of dormancy. Little is known about where the assassin has been since his disappearance – rumours suggested he was killed by the Joker, although these were dismissed by the doctors that worked on him and said that he vanished from the hospital after three nights' stay."

"That's very blurred sir; it couldn't be-"

"Shh, Alfred."

The blonde continued as she appeared on screen again, "Nightmare's whereabouts remain a mystery but one question stays a hot topic – if this is the return of the infamous child assassin, how long until people start dying? This is Vicki Vale, with more on this as we get it."

Bruce was stunned into silence. He knew, he felt that it was Tobias making contact, and for a damn good reason too. If he didn't want anyone to know he had come back to Gotham, he wouldn't have been caught on camera. The boy was far too good for that. Perhaps he had come to make amends? Perhaps he'd found himself in a spot of bother and wanted the safety of his father? All those ideas circulated in his head as he stared, dumbfounded.

And as always, it was his best butler who pulled him out of that trance, "Very well, I'll go and get the guest bedroom prepared. Would you like me to use the good towels?" Bruce looked at him with a strange expression, "Yes, I think I'll use the good towels. Master Tobias will probably be hungry when he arrives, so I'll get some form of dinner on for him. Or perhaps a bath? It can get awfully filthy on those streets."

"Alfred," he looked up to see that shadowed look in Bruce's eyes, the look that he had worn as a frightened child and occasionally as an uncertain adult, "What does this mean? Why's he come back now?"

All he could do was smile at the man he had cared for, pat his hand and turn on his toes, his voice the cheery yet respectable tone that he had always worn for the sake of his master, "Does that really matter? I'm sure he'll tell you soon enough! Now, where did I leave the good towels?"


	2. Run

Tobias had returned to Gotham, but for a reason he had hoped would never come about. As he dived through the fogged streets of the downtown regions, his face covered like it normally was and his eyes peeled for anything that could be deemed a threat, the memories of what happened in that city chilled him.

His scar had never gone away and in some manner, Tobias was glad of it. Not that it helped him keep his past hidden but it certainly made for an interesting tale when he sat in his new home, drinking a flagon of ale that was stolen from some sort of renaissance-style bar, laughing with his new friends about how they had come to walk their paths.

"Woah, watch it!" barked a man when he ran into him, though Tobias was going too fast for him to actually see who it was. Thrusting his cap further down his face, the citizen wandered down the street and didn't think about how close he'd come to death that night, if he even realised who that little boy had been.

By the time Nightmare had reached his destination, the clouds were threatening. Shadows chased his features as he leapt over the electric fence and darted through the pretty garden, perfectly clipped hedgerows like swans whilst his eyes stayed trained on his target. It had been a long time since he last saw it. It looked…sadder, than he remembered; as though during his absence a cloud had descended, and it had never quite recovered from it.

Wayne Manor. He shuddered to think about the state of affairs beneath that grand mansion, where he was sure there were many tunnels of Bat-related equipment and a bunker big enough to satisfy the president.

"Master Bruce," Alfred's voice came over the intercom as Bruce tried to clear away his papers, "There's an intruder in the front garden. Should I leave the door open or go and meet him?" a small trace of a smile appeared and disappeared on the billionaire's face, his hands running through his hair whilst he darted to the front door and threw it open. He was lucky he'd reacted so quickly. Tobias was like a cannonball when he erupted through the entrance, soaking from the suddenly pelting rain outside and face still covered for his incognito needs.

Gasping and panting, the boy managed to choke out, "Lock the door! Quickly! I don't know how close he is to me!" without question Bruce thrust the door shut again, his fumble with the locks hurried as his son fell on the marble floor below them.

A month. An entire month he'd been running, not sleeping in the same place twice and careful to make sure his tracks were covered, but he knew it would never be enough. The problem would have to be nipped in the bud – he had already let it blossom, so it was time they applied the weed killer.

Warm hands touched his back as he continued panting on the floor, curled up in a foetal position whilst his cloak weighed down on him, heavy with the rainwater from above. Without a word the billionaire began to take it off, just so his son wouldn't catch a cold and they could fit him in more appropriate clothing.

"Don't!" he pushed the hands away, sitting up with a choked cough, "Don't touch the cloak. He might…he could see me!"

"Who? The mansion's secure, Tobias; no one's coming in or out without us knowing about it, okay?" the hands dipped underneath his hood to touch the familiar black locks, twisted and knotted by a month of running, slicked wet with the grease of his troubles and heartache as he gazed into the boy's barely visible eyes. At first, Nightmare thought against it. But then he just pulled his hood down from his forehead and looked up at his father, looking frightfully like a little child lost in the wilderness.

There were subtle changes. His green eyes had become hardened over time, touched by deftness as well as complete horror, whilst the rest of his face had somewhat matured. The soft contours were slightly coarser and his hair had been allowed to grow out into an untameable mess, falling past his forehead which was riddled by a dozen cuts and scars.

"He's after me. My friends…he killed…my friends…"

Bruce's eyes widened but he didn't miss a beat, instead stroking the boy's shaggy head whilst he made his face soft, "What's happened? Follow me – you look hungry." It was true; the paleness of his details were highlighted a month of famine, his only food whatever morsels he could pick off of picnickers or the unsuspecting child, though there were hints of determination in those hardened eyes. Bruce knew what that meant.

He had been through far worse during his travels. The billionaire shuddered to think about what could have happened to him, what he had seen and done throughout his running and how he had come to find new friends during that.

When they were finally in the dining hall and Alfred began to serve up dinner, Tobias could barely look at the food in front of him. He was too busy glancing at the grand wooden panelling around him, decorated by armoured knights and giant crystal chandeliers that hung over a long oak table, which itself was presented with rows of cutlery and the finest china he'd ever laid eyes on. Bowls of what looked like rubies sat on the cabinets behind them, loaded with expensive brandy labels that Tobias couldn't quite place, and the rest was layered with either giant diamond ornaments or the occasional antique globe, an old bookcase in one corner of the room that was heaving with all sorts of interesting books. He made a mental note to try and read one at some point before he turned to the meal; lamb stew, the same he had been offered two years beforehand.

"You remembered…" the whisper was quiet, and it was a good thing that Alfred was a great listener. The butler's face creased in a half-smile as he looked down at the surprised little boy beside him, noting how his hands were clasped firmly over the table edge and his hair needed a sizable cut.

"It was a terrible shame that you didn't stay for supper last time, so I made sure you didn't miss the opportunity again," he explained before he set a large spoon down beside his cutlery, with a thought that Tobias's appetite would trump his eating habits. "It's the same recipe, albeit slightly refined over the years."

Bruce watched as his son took the first bite, gingerly sampling it on his tongue before he started digging in. It was a heart-warming sight; the little boy actually enjoying something for once rather than running for his life, like the same old broken DVD playing for eternity.

"What's happened?" he asked softly after Tobias had devoured half his food, "Talk to me and Alfred. How can I help?"

The boy looked up, dropping his spoon with a clatter without wiping the gravy smeared around his face. His eyes twinkled in fear as they suddenly went distant, far away from that huge dining hall he sat in.

"My friends…he's killed them!" was the strained reply, "I…I've been running for so long. I can't face him, not alone. Not again."

"Who?"

"They…they…they…" he straightened suddenly as a new fire entered his eyes, "They call him Haywire."


	3. The Haywire

Tobias's legs ached so much that it was a struggle to stand, let alone walk to his bedroom as his father showed it to him. It was no secret that he was uncomfortable in such luxury, errant almost when he gazed about at the fireplace and four post bed and en suite bathroom, though he didn't moan about his predicament. He just flashed a grateful half smile before flopping on the memory foam mattress, eyes closed against Bruce's speech.

"It should be warm in here because of the heating but, if you get cold, there's the fireplace here," he gestured to the beautiful thing at the side of the room, its mantle laden with lovely crystal ornaments and a few folksy collectibles, "And there's a bathroom there so you can get a shower. A bath would be better, so there's some bubbles in the cabinets, as well as shampoo and conditioner."

Without thinking, Bruce sat beside his son, letting the bed squeak in protest as the child covered his eyes with his cloak. He was twelve years old and still possessed his normal ten-year charm, such as not looking at people when he spoke and being generally stubborn about things. It made the billionaire wish he had been there for his childhood. A sigh passed through his lips, which didn't fall deaf to Tobias.

"This Haywire guy," he began cautiously before the boy stopped him, that sharpened look revealed when he pulled his cloak away.

"Don't," his voice was little more than a growl, "Don't go there, Bruce. It's not important about what he is, just where he is."

"I need more facts!" the insistence was something that Tobias hadn't heard for a while, so used to people bending to his will when he wanted something. It made him smile before it disappeared again, remembering that he was supposed to be neutral to the man he barely knew.

But the billionaire had caught the little flicker on his face. The small movement made him want to give Nightmare another kiss on the forehead, the sort that was light and comforting, but he knew better than to try two in one evening.

"The facts? Why would you need them?"

"Because I need to know exactly who I'm dealing with and why he's so terrifying to you," a warm hand clasped Tobias's, "I need to know how to fight him, so that I can protect you."

He snatched it away, "I can protect myself, I just need a little help!" a shaky breath shuddered through his gritted teeth as he sat up, glancing at the luxurious surroundings like he couldn't bear it. He didn't belong there. He didn't belong in that scene. It just didn't feel right.

"Talk to me," Bruce whispered gently, and Tobias responded after a few minutes of silence.

"Haywire's called that because he's got a power; he can manipulate lightning. Far as I remember, he was the only one who survived at a waste plant explosion a few years back, when he realised what powers he had."

"That's…how did he come to deal with you, then? Was he your first friend?"

"No!" Nightmare's eyes were a blaze at his father when he looked up, suddenly furious, "That insolent little pest wasn't my friend! I didn't trust him as far as I could throw him!"

"Then…how did it get to this point?"

"When I left the graveyard, I travelled north for a while. Hit a few towns, but none of them good enough to start a life in. When I finally got to my hometown…my utopia…it was amazing. Festering with criminals, lowlifes, rapists, drug addicts…I was in my Heaven!" his face was the picture of excitement as he remembered that place, that wonderful place that he had come across.

Instantly, it came up in his mind. Narrow city streets with towering apartment blocks, smog on the ground and darkness shrouding the rooftops so he could move more easily. The leaps weren't as challenging as they were in Gotham but his boredom hadn't been aroused, especially when he advertised his skills to the wealthier folk. There were some wonderful people that hid in the darkened corners of that place, mostly tucked away in cardboard boxes and begging for their dinner, though he wasn't one for judging.

"What happened there?" Bruce stroked the soft features that he had thought about nearly every day, urging him to speak further.

"I met someone," another smile, "She was an orphan girl just off Baker Street – held me up for my cloak, then tried to slice my throat open along the scar," he gestured to the ugly thing that stretched across his neck, the thing that kept him up on occasion and served as a reminder for his past, "I instantly felt a connection with her. When I chased up her name and found out she was called Hannah, we formed a group called the La Lega degli Assassini. We thought Italian would be smoother."

Bruce forced a smile despite his churning stomach, "She sounds lovely."

"Sounded," Tobias let his eyes flutter shut again, "She sounded lovely. She's dead now."

"What happened to her?"

Another shaky breath, "We were just a duo at first, killing in the shadows where people couldn't see us. Then more kids started coming forward. By the end of the first year, we had a solid assassins unit of about fifteen kids. Haywire's accident happened, and we heard about it on the news. Thought it was strange. That was it."

"Anything else?"

"One day, he came to us. Said that he wanted to be an assassin. I told him no because he was twenty five, and the rest of us were about ten to twelve. I think thirteen was the oldest. But Hannah convinced me to let him in, so I did."

"And he-"

"Please, let me say it," the boy's fingers grabbed his father's wrists before he sighed again, speaking through his gritted teeth, "He got annoyed with my leadership and, when I told him that it wouldn't be changing, he went into a rage. Killed everyone. Josie, James, Yvonne, Talia, Savannah, Tom…even my Hannah." He closed his eyes as he breathed, "My Hannah was the last to die. She kept him busy when I was trying to neutralise him, but he sliced her neck…her neck open. Then he fought me. It was close and I won, but I couldn't kill him. He ran off and told me to keep looking over my shoulder, because he was coming after me. Now I'm here."

Bruce didn't know what to say. He knew that this Hannah girl had meant something to his little boy; perhaps not quite love but close, and he didn't even flinch at the memory of the girl with his mother's name. It were as though he had never led his previous life.

"We'll keep you safe Tobias," he stroked the back of the child's head before he got up, hoping that he was off to get some background on that Haywire guy so he'd have more research to go on.

"Toby."

He looked back, "Pardon?"

"You can call me Toby, if you want. Or…well, Hannah used to call me Knife Boy."

"Toby it is!" he smiled at him softly as he walked towards the door, his smile wide, "I'll see you tomorrow, little guy."


	4. Cold Echoes

**A/N; Haywire is an OC that was thought up by Ryder the Hedgehog and given to me as a request. All credit to the character goes to this user, and the rest are my own creation :)**

* * *

A soft faced young girl brushed her hand along Tobias's shoulder, waking him gently from the sleep he had fallen in. As his eyes opened, he was confronted by her deep brown eyes and chestnut hair, the top of her white teeth revealed whilst her lip rose high in a smirk.

"Wake up Knife Boy," the lovely trill of her voice was sweeter than birdsong, "We've got some more contracts to fill."

Ah, that wonderful home. Tobias was there again, deep in the bowels of the most sickening city he had ever come across, living by the dagger as he had done in Gotham. The crumbled walls of their hideout were slowly rebuilding as the gold piled up, so much that they daren't leave it lying around and had purchased a nice little chest to keep it in, which was hidden underneath the boy's bed where people wouldn't see it. Not that it was a particularly grand piece – simple, made out of plywood and a few feathers they had collected over time, not unlike the sorts that were found in storybooks and vagabond camps. He didn't need luxury to survive. He just needed his daggers, his cloak…and his friends.

"Morning!" a deep growl came from the damaged throat of James, who had come into a scuffle with his father some time in his boyhood. How he wished he had shielded himself from the cooking oil, the sizzling frying pan that had connected with his throat and burnt through the delicate skin. The second shout was from Talia, a blonde haired beauty that used her feminine wiles to attract her kills, which was why Tobias normally offered her the rapist contracts and several special sorts.

"Where is everyone?" he asked as he settled on the meagre dining table, rounded irregularly as they had added bits to make it bigger, supporting their growing assassins unit and trying to make sure they were adequate for meal time. The splinters cut his calloused hands when he leaned over for a tomato, though he barely flinched at the sharpened stab.

"Tom took a contract on the other side of town; Savannah's busy with her baby; Phil went down to get some more bread and I'm pretty sure the rest are just out patrolling," Hannah reeled off the list with ease, her photographic memory the picture of perfection as she gave him her dazzling smile. He smiled back, only because he was so grateful for her.

"Savannah's baby?"

"That doll she found after her last kill. She's using it to practice being a mum," the girl grimaced with her hands to her ears, "I just wish it'd stop crying all night."

Typical Hannah – she was eager to keep up pretences for the sake of their youngest member, who had yet to fall from the disillusion of motherhood and normal life. When Tobias thought of their fiery haired little friend, with her features so porcelain and new, a pang of strange heartache went out to her as he remembered the strange predicament, for a skilled assassin to want something more. Could she not understand what had led her to that point?

"She's got to remember why she's here; speaking of which, any news on the whereabouts of her mother?"

"That bitch? Nope, nothing yet. I checked with the church she was left at, but they told me they found her in the box without her mum there."

"Why on Earth were you at a church?" Tobias fixed her with a gaze of strained suspicion, his chin dripping red with the juice of his breakfast. She responded with a shake of her shoulders and a flutter of her eyelashes, long enough to stroke against the milky white skin of her cheek, before she finally grinned at him.

"Passed it after a kill," she explained whilst James put a plate of breakfast in front of their leader, knowing he wouldn't eat it but feeling bad if he didn't, "Thought I'd wash my hands off in the Holy Water font, but I ran into some priests instead. One matched the description Savannah gave." Another grin came to her face before she stabbed a rusted fork into Tobias's egg, quick to eat it before the boy could give a half-arsed mewl of protest, "Matched a description for one of our contracts, too. You're welcome, by the way."

They fell into a blissful bout of chattering, commenting on the divineness of James's cooking and discussing their plans for that day. It was the day when Tobias would collect payment for a particularly vicious session of assaults, each one more torturous than the last, and Hannah was curious to know who would ask for such horrendous actions. She had tried to search, of course, but nothing decent or reliable had come up.

The kitchen was just as meagre as the bedrooms were. It had an old iron gas stove in the corner, polished occasionally just to get rid of lingering spider's webs, whilst above them sat one of the only light fixtures – bare circuit, hanging down dangerously over the centre of their dining table. There were no windows, all blacked out in case someone walked past the abandoned apartment blocks and actually thought, 'Hey, there's a weird light on there. Let's check it out.' Tobias didn't want the sunlight to shed in anyway, knowing that it could lead to their distraction if they were on a particularly important mission.

When Kirk entered the apartment, he was met by happy cheers and hands clasped over coffee cups. The sandy haired boy could only smile back at them, his own scarred digits gripping a newspaper tightly to his chest, his forest green clothes splattered with the blood of his kill. His leader sighed; one day he'd make the boy less messy with swords, but that day was far off in the future.

"What's that?" Tobias asked with an arm thrown over James's shoulder, smiling happily as he gazed around at his friends.

"You know that waste plant explosion that killed all those people?"

"Like it was my mother's heartbeat."

"One of the old employees woke up," that earned him a sudden interest from the teammates, made even more intense when he threw the boring newsprint down and directed them to the top headline, "George Granger – ex-bad boy. He claims he used his powers to save himself; electrical powers, too. He's crazy."

They dissolved into a fit of giggles after that, uncomfortably trying to fathom what man would be so foolish as to claim he had powers. There were other headlines on the paper – a few about their kills, a cluster of theories behind mysterious sightings and, on a more disturbing note, a recent entry that was made by none other than Joker himself, the man who had tried to slice Tobias's throat open all those months beforehand.

"Knife Boy," he turned to Hannah once the others dissipated, his mind more concentrated on his cloak than anything else, "I've got a bad feeling about this guy."

"Don't worry; he's just a half-rate. Give it a few days and he'd have dropped out of your mind," his words were accompanied by a soothing gaze, the type that he wore when they had first met and crossed daggers in that little back alley; her resting place, his sanctuary.

"If you're sure."

"I'm sure, Hannah. Anyway, it's getting on in the morning and the Hooded Nightmare needs to make his kills. What about the Scarlet Knife?" he smiled at her through his haze of memory, since his name carried more weight with it than simple fear. She managed to muster a grin in return.

"She's just about to head out, Nightmare."

Tobias awoke in his luxurious bed, weeping bitter tears that had sprung up during his slumber. The sweetness of his dream evaporated as he remembered his friends, his assassin-made family that had supported him so well, made him fall in love with them, before they were cruelly ripped away from him. Salty tangs entered his mouth whilst the tears continued to fall, his arms wrapped around himself as he sat bolt upright and began rocking on his heels.

"I'll kill you for this, George Granger," he swore softly to himself, "I'll kill you for them."


	5. A Morning in the Present

The next day, Bruce was sure that he was up before six. He wasn't certain what Tobias's sleeping schedule was like – by what he'd heard, the boy hadn't slept much at all – so he wanted to be safe that he would wake first and breakfast would be prepared for his son before anything else happened. He was surprised to find Alfred chirping away in the kitchen when he got downstairs, fresh and crisp despite his age as he helped the chefs make their food.

"Good morning Master Bruce," his eyebrows rose when he caught sight of the billionaire, usually unresponsive until noontime, "We haven't quite finished with breakfast. It should be on the table shortly."

"Thanks Alfred; I wanted to be up before Toby," a smile flickered on his face as the name fell out, as naturally as calling for Tim or beaming for the camera on a formal night out.

"Master Tobias is already awake, sir," the billionaire's eyes widened when his butler said that, wondering how a twelve year old boy was awake at that time when he hadn't been asleep for long. Was Tobias some sort of superman? Or was he just on a deeply disturbed sleeping cycle, his only allowance for rest on very short snippets of time?

"Where is he?"

"The last I heard, he said that he had some unfinished business to attend to. I tried my best to keep him in the manor but, well, you know how headstrong Wayne boys can be."

Despite the amused chuckle on his face and the force sense of calm, Bruce was alive with worry. Not twenty four hours ago the boy had been too fearful to leave, too scared to even look out the windows as he passed them, like someone would spot him and his entire life would end in a split second.

Silly young Bruce – he didn't know that had already happened. Tobias's utopia was lying in ruins around him and the horrific destructor was on his tail, ready to end his mewling life as abruptly as he had ended the other's.

Just as breakfast was served, Nightmare appeared in the window. He swooped through the single opening he could find, expertly diving past the maid he had spotted a mile off and landing with grace in front of the cabinets, one hand on the floor, the other extended behind him. His dark eyes were hidden behind the trademark cloak, which instantly set the gaggle of maids off screaming as they realised just who he was.

Bruce was quick to diffuse the situation, "Calm down everyone, really! Young Toby here is just…an admirer, of the Hooded Nightmare. He's taught himself the skills through internet tutorials." The maids looked to Tobias as if waiting for confirmation, which he gave in the form of a quick headshake and a taking of his seat, some way away from his father and closer to the door than anything else.

They ate in silence for a while. Well, Bruce ate. Nightmare was too busy looking all over, slightly overwhelmed by the beauty around him and the smell of wonderfully prepared food, unused to the way the maids were clucking over him. It was making him uncomfortable. All of his senses suddenly felt overloaded and he wanted to be back in the city, where the smells were as foul as the things that lived there. He was spiralling, losing himself in the chaos of that splendour and falling into the deep pit of illusion, a place darker than night, colder than ice, more welcoming than the arms of a mother with a knife tucked behind her back...

"Where were you?"

He looked up, expression blank as he stared at the dark haired man in front of him.

"You vanished this morning. Where were you?" Bruce was calm when he repeated the question, but his eyes spoke for themselves. Tobias could see weakness within them – worry for the boy he didn't know, though it actually made him want to smile.

"Nowhere important."

"It's important to me Toby," the name came out again, accompanied by a deep sigh, "You can't go running off like that, especially with this guy coming after you. I need to know you're safe."

The boy sipped at his water, "I was safe. I was in the city."

"That's not safe. That's in a public place where people can see you."

"It's me, Bruce. If I want people to see me, they'll see me. If I don't, they won't even know I'm there."

"So, why were you in the city?"

"To attend to unfinished business," a wicked smile spread across Tobias's lips, highlighting the crazed look in his eyes whilst he thought back to his work, "Your bacon is falling off the fork. I think you should stab it again." That was when he revealed a pointed blade hidden under his cloak, careful not to let any of the mother hens see it and looking with meaning at his father, his black shirt underneath stained with dark red blood that had somewhat congealed. It looked like a strange tree root growing up the boy's side, brought to life by that long silver seed.

Bruce's brown eyes went wide, "Toby! You haven't…you haven't…"

"Killed someone, Bruce?" he leaned in with that insane grin on his face, "Of course I have. That's what I do. I never said I was going to change it and, frankly, if I did, that would be like losing a part of myself. I don't want to stop killing. I just want my friends back."

For Tobias, there was no connection between what he did to people and what had happened to his friends. Their lives were ended by an unjust madman of their order, someone they were supposed to trust and depend on in their times of need, not by a stranger in a hood who didn't know them. His work and his friends were two separate occurrences – his work brought happiness to people, whilst what happened to the others brought only misery.

But then again, it was only misery for him.

"You…you…" he was cut off by a sharp trill in the air, which caused Tobias to leap up and aim his daggers for the door. Instantly his eyes fell to Alfred, alight with fear and courage as he cocked his head towards the entrance.

"Answer it," he barked, "If it's Haywire, I'll slice him where he stands!" the surprising calm of the butler was new to him as he walked up to the door, clearing his throat before he opened it and gave his most respectable greeting.

Alfred was a good sort, Tobias decided. With a bald head and only a small ring of hair around it, white and thin due to his many years of life, his eyes were certainly the most alluring thing about him. He was wise, kind. He was the exact thing that Bruce needed during his nights of turmoil, which was a firm hand and a friendly face, something to keep him grounded when all he wanted to do was soar off.

"Miss Hammond!" he called, a little too loudly for it to be coincidence, "What a lovely surprise visit! Master Bruce just has a guest with him at the moment – I'll…" he looked over at Wayne helplessly, at a loss for what he could say since there really was no explanation for things. The billionaire just shrugged before gesturing for him to let her in, a façade of calm in his face as he looked at the dagger-wielding child in front of him.

She – now she, was beautiful. Even Tobias found himself struck when she sashayed into the room, her full red lips expertly done up and her long eyelashes brushing against one another as she pouted, hand on a sequin-covered hip whilst her gaze locked onto Bruce. He remembered again just how she had looked when they met, so gorgeous in her red dress that showed her wide hips perfectly, so fierce as her piercing blue gaze seared through his brown depths.

"Well Bruce, I see you've got company," she pointed out airily, feigning irritation despite her wonderment at the child, "It's been a few weeks since our last date and I haven't heard a word from you!"

"Ah yes, about that – I'm afraid I had some urgent business to deal with. You know how it is with us billionaires," he flashed her his award-winning smile, the very one that had made her agree to go out with him (aside from his money, Tobias was sure.)

"Not too busy to have a little guest, I see. Who's this little guy?" she was much softer when she turned her attention to Nightmare, though he wasn't falling for it. He had seen her face before, the beauty, but he couldn't quite place it. It were as if it was a dream, beckoning Tobias back to the world of sleep just so he could fit her face.

"Savannah," he finally gasped, his hands clasped together with his two index fingers against his mouth, his gaze unmoving from her porcelain features.

"What?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing; I'm very sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"Such a well-spoken little boy," she glanced at Bruce with one perfectly plucked eyebrow raised, "Your son?"

"We're not related. I'm an exchange student." Tobias was good at lying, which was a skill that Wayne would never get used to.

"Really? Where are you from?"

"England, but I've been here long enough to lose the accent," he laughed that forced laugh that people do at parties, particularly when they wanted to make a good impression, "I'm sorry, your name Miss…?"

"Hammond," she reached forward to shake his hand but he kept it close to him, the cool metal of his knife comforting against his side. She raised another eyebrow as she continued, "Carmen Hammond. Nice to meet you?"

"Oh no, Miss Hammond," his eyes darkened when he remembered his dead friend, the beautiful Savannah and her quest for motherhood, "The pleasure is all mine."


	6. Sweetened Lies

**A/N; If you're looking for some good music to read with this chapter, the music I use to get into Tobias's head is called 'Give Me a Reason' by Three Days Grace. It's quite melancholy but, to really understand Tobias, I think it goes a long way in helping :)**

* * *

The return of the Hooded Nightmare. It was something that Riddler had feared, looking over his shoulder to make sure the boy wasn't stalking him, the daggers weren't pulled up to his back and he was allowed to live for another day, providing that Tobias wasn't in the shadows.

When he flicked on the news that evening, the feeling of dread was strangely outweighed by relief. He saw the famed hood of the little boy he knew, the glint of the daggers against the silvery moonlight and the slightly bared teeth as the picture continued playing, the voiceover an afterthought to Riddler's strange mood. He brought the cup of tea to his lips whilst his eyes stayed glued on the television, the saucer chattering slightly in his hand like he was about to drop it.

"Breaking news!" Tobias looked up from his father's luxurious sofas, momentarily distracted from cleaning his bloody weapons, "It's been announced that there is a hero looking for young Hooded Nightmare – a man named Haywire, the protector of a neighbouring city. He's here with us tonight." The killer's blood ran cold as a familiar voice came on screen, accompanied by a sickeningly scarred face that seemed all like a bad dream.

It was George Granger. His brown hair – what was left of it, anyway – was hanging limply over crazy blue eyes, an ocean thickened by blood, whilst his body was coated in that ridiculous costume he wore. Ever the distinctive type, he donned an outrageous yellow number that had alerted many of his kills to him, right before he ended their mewling lives with the use of his God-forsaken powers. Tobias's hand gripped on the sharp end of his blade, unaware of the pain shooting through him as his blood slowly dripped onto the black leather below.

"Thank you for that introduction, Miss Vale," he said with a flash of his porcelain teeth, about the only thing that had suffered no damage in his accident, "I'm sure everyone here will be glad to know I'm well versed in dealing with Nightmare, especially since I've very nearly killed him before."

"You have?!" Vale leaned forward as interest gleamed in her eyes, those pretty pearls that Tobias wanted to gouge out, "What happened?"

"Nightmare was just about to kill an unsuspecting little toddler when I found him. As I would've guessed, he began crying and begging me to spare him, but I'm the sort who believes in an eye for an eye. He kills a kid? Fine – he loses his life too."

The boy dropped his blade. His hand was well and truly sliced, the blood pouring out of it like a fountain as he made a fist with his other and kept his eyes rooted to the television, wishing that he had just one minute with Granger's thick neck. How dare he accuse him of trying to harm a baby! When it was Haywire who had rid fourteen children from the world, their little lives cut short by the sheer intensity of his fingertips…

"What? Nightmare's MO suggests that he doesn't kill children. In fact, an eyewitness claims that he protected her son from his own thugs about two years ago, when he and Riddler and Quinn tried to take over Gotham."

Granger shrugged, flashing that smile at his charming interrogator, "He's changed. I've heard he even killed a young girl that didn't do anything to him; poor little dear, called Hannah."

"YOU LYING BASTARD!" the outburst caused Bruce to rush in from the hallway, slamming his phone back on the cradle only to be confronted with his son standing on the sofa, hand pouring with blood as he screamed blue fury at the television, "I never laid a hand on her! I never touched her! It was you! You killed Hannah! You're lying to everyone's face, you bastard!"

The billionaire looked up to see a face on the screen, scarred to the point where he didn't even look human. It was just as well that he had a sort of mask in his hand, perhaps something he donned when he was walking through the dark streets at night and claiming to be something he wasn't. The disclaimer underneath said that it was a Mister Lyell Moscow, born and raised on a cattle farm where he used to shock the cows into submission, though he didn't believe a word of it.

"What've you done to your hand?!" he gasped, acting the father whilst he pulled his son down and inspected the deep wound, "I don't want you cleaning your knives when you're watching TV, not if this is what happens." Tobias wasn't even listening to him, too glued to the screen to pay heed to his surroundings, too furious to feel anything but a burning hatred in his heart.

He didn't even notice as Bruce began to get the first aid kit, which was why his arm was limp when the billionaire finally wrapped up his wound and gave him a warm look, meant to encourage him into saying something. It was all too soon that Wayne noticed the paleness of his feature, the intense hurt in his eyes as he watched the man on screen and heard, _listened _to every lie he was saying.

"Toby?" he asked quietly, afraid that the boy would suddenly lunge at him in his slowly growing rage.

But instead, he only looked down with those half-built tears, "I didn't kill her. I never had a reason to kill her. She was like me, Bruce. We were two of a kind…she was the missing piece."

"Did you…" he gulped noisily, "Did you love her?" Nightmare could only look at him for a moment, immobilised by the constriction in his chest, dumbstruck by the turn in events that he for once hadn't predicted, before he slowly turned his gaze back to the television.

"She was everything to me," he admitted in a whisper, "She was the sun, the earth, the moon. She made things seem so…so perfect. I didn't need to explain who I was to her. She just accepted it and became one with it, became a part of everything I was. I am. Hannah was the one person I could go to if I needed help. But…"

With a helpless expression, he looked back at his father. There was fear there, a penetrating terror that threatened to send Bruce to Hell if he dared look too long, though soon it dissipated and he found his voice again.

"But what, Toby?"

"But…I'm not capable of love. It's not in my nature. She was my friend, one of my dearest friends," the hardened anger came back again, "And I avenge my friends."


	7. Sleepy Chats

Burning pain ripped through Tobias's hand as he stalked through the darkness. Sleep had evaded him once again, off to wet the heads of more gracious children and their loving parents, so he had opted to spend his time getting to know the landscape.

Wayne manor was a masterpiece. Everywhere he looked there was luxury, everywhere he stepped some new thing that he had never laid eyes upon before, such as decorative soaps imported from the Caribbean or a cluster of strange flowers from the depths of the Amazon, untalkative as huge red petals drooped past their pot and onto the floor beneath them.

"It's a nice one," he jumped at the sound of his father behind them, nursing a glass of scotch in one hand and propping his forearm against the arched doorway beside him. The relaxed features were something that Tobias hadn't seen before; usually when they interacted or had one of their 'chats' he was creased with anxiety, the sort that only came when one realised they were in an unwinnable argument. "That flower. I forget its name, but it's a good one."

"I've never liked flowers before," he replied, just to be polite. He felt that his consumption of the food and the taking of one bed was at least fair, but there was an incessant need within him to keep some sense of honour. Besides, it wasn't as though he was aiming for a long term thing with Bruce.

"You should try to get a hobby. Maybe flowers should be your thing?"

"My hobby is my job," two green eyes turned to his father, so intense that he thought they were sharper than daggers, "And you won't let me do that until I'm out of here." It was true – Bruce had confiscated his son's weapons in the light of his sadistic ways, too scared to switch on the news in case he saw an unfinished murder investigation. If there was, everyone would know the Hooded Nightmare had returned to Gotham's streets.

With Haywire getting the five star treatment, that was the last thing Batman needed on his mind.

"I can get you a hobby, if you want one," the billionaire mentioned as he casually leant on the table beside him, noticing how Tobias's eyes stayed on everything except his father, "I've got the money for you to try anything you want."

"Wouldn't the nobler course of action be to put me in prison? You know – on account of all the blood on my hands," that wicked grin stretched back on the boy's face. Was he guilty? Hell, he was guilty of everything except feeling guilty, and that was what frightened Bruce. Sometimes there would be a glimmer of humility, something that told him there was really a little boy in there and not just a heartless murderer, but it would soon vanish just as easily as it had arrived.

Silence reigned over them as Wayne took a long gulp of scotch. He was determined not to let his son see the way he unnerved him, just knowing that it would provide a later cause for exploitation.

"Would you like me to put you in prison?"

Tobias's eyes sparkled, "I don't know; perhaps that'll be our challenge one day? A faceoff between us…after Haywire's lying in the dirt, of course."

"If you…hm…I suppose you're the opportunist. You'll probably jump on me when my back's turned."

And the child turned, presenting his back in an ironic way before he muttered, "Yeah, I probably will."


	8. Visit

"You're not eating," Bruce observed when his son sat down to dinner, the child's eyes stuck on the roast beef in front of him. There was a silence between them that seemed tenser than usual, though Tobias didn't bother breaking it by responding to his father.

The television in the lounge still flickered on the news report he had been watching, about Nightmare's supposed whereabouts and how Haywire was vowing to kill him. He cared little for what George Granger said; all he cared about was the fact that everyone thought he killed his friends, that he was the reason they weren't breathing.

It was Alfred who broke their silence again, "Master Tobias, I believe that the television should be switched off for dinner. You can't be concentrating on your food."

For a moment, it looked as though the child may have argued. He looked first at Alfred and then his father, the man who had waited for him to return without looking for him, just as he had asked. His voice was but a whisper when he said, "Okay."

What had happened to the spirit of Tobias? It seemed to have withered away with the death of Hannah, leaving nothing but the hollow shell of what was once a bright boy to remain, abandoning the child with a ghost of his former self. Bruce could hardly stand it as he cut up his roast beef, silent aside from the force his laboured breathing.

"Where did you go this afternoon? I found your room empty," the billionaire eventually said as a way to make conversation, since it was evident that Tobias liked to disappear, "You didn't go on another contract, did you?"

The child looked up at him, picking at his dinner respectfully, "No. I've completed all belated contracts. Everyone who thought they got away is dead. Here," he threw a bagful of money on the table, nearly dripping with blood though it remained quite dry, "Payment for letting me stay. I'll be sure to give you more once I get more contracts. It's been difficult advertising my business with all the police looking for me…and Haywire."

"That's not needed Toby – I don't want this money, especially not the way you've been getting it. You're welcome to stay here as long as you like."

There was a flicker of disbelief in the boy's eyes as he leaned back over the table, collecting up his riches as his gaze stayed rigidly on his father. Was he being honest? Was he really not expected to pay for his keep? "Thank you."

"No need to thank me. You're my son. Besides, you're getting away from the question," those brown eyes locked onto him again, his lips on the rim of the wine glass whilst he kept his gaze steady, "Where were you this afternoon?" the boy dropped his fork once more to let out a long sigh, since he saw he would not be getting away from the question.

"I was visiting a friend."

"A friend? In Gotham?"

"Don't sound so shocked!" the boy felt a smile stretch on his lips as he sipped on his diet coke, a knowing glance between himself and his reflection on the cabinets beside him, "He's been a good friend for quite some time. I just wanted to let him know I was back, personally."

"Not to interrupt, but could he not just read the reports? It seems your presence is quite well covered by today's media."

"Oh, he knew I was in the city. I just wanted him to know I hadn't forgotten him over the years," the coke landed on the floor, half of the contents spilling on the side as he fixed his father with a steady gaze, "Riddler's gotten skinnier. Is that your doing?"


	9. Broken, Shattered, Empty

Riddler had been expecting Tobias to turn up for some time. He had even taken the liberty to tidy his living space up a bit, preparing for the blood splatter that would surely decorate it and add that sought after charm. Sitting there in his faded floral armchair, tea in hand and a book in the other, the cold breeze from the opened window chilled him as he tried to focus on Tess and her poor struggle through a male focused world.

"Ah, I was beginning to wonder when you'd show up," he commented casually when a familiar brush ran along his arm, trying and failing to hide the shiver that crept up his spine whilst he tossed the book aside.

Tobias was careful not to be seen; he stayed in the darkened corners of the frayed one room apartment, cautious of the bare circuit bulb that hang overhead, aware that the Riddler only had to jerk to send that hot tea flying at him. He hissed out a reply that didn't quite make sense but at the same time, made the villain want to see his sallow face again. Too much had been left unsaid. Too long had passed for them to repair old wounds.

"Tea?" he offered, though he was met by an icy green stare. It glowed from the darkness as it normally did and he wondered how Nightmare had gained that ability, to make anyone feel uncomfortable with but a look. "Well, if you don't want tea, I'll have to make myself some." He planned to make two cups anyway, since the chill was enough to freeze even the most muscled of men, not to mention a twelve year old criminal.

Tobias watched as he flicked on a cheap red kettle, hearing the hiss that emanated from it whilst his hands stayed tight against the wall. His legs felt weak. He had run for so long that they were finally starting to hurt him, but he wasn't about to show that pain to Riddler. Not after last time.

"Here."

A little bar of chocolate was thrown on the floor in front of him. Green eyes flicked onto it for a moment, the distrust in them as prominent as the blood that ran through his veins, the breath that billowed out of his nose like smoke. Why did the Riddler tease him with memories?

"I've been expecting you to turn up for quite some time," the green villain commented whilst he went about tea making, "The news has been a wonderful little cyclone with your whereabouts. I trust you're not letting them find out? Would be a terrible shame to see you thrown in prison, is all. That Haywire-"

A knife suddenly embedded itself in the wall beside Riddler, sharpened to a fine tip and glinting with the silvery moonlight. Tobias's soft growls were the only noise the child made as he slowly picked up the chocolate bar and inspected it, gentle, observant.

Edward managed to gulp through the lump in his throat, "Tender subject?"

"There's a lot that you've missed. You've been lied to," his voice was definitely colder than the villain remembered, with more haunting attributes to it than that of a child assassin. Oh how he wished for those days back, when Nightmare was simply plagued by the horrors of his mother rather than what he had surely gone through, the only bad dreams to do with his rejecting from the League. It was so much simpler then.

"Lied to?" he commented bravely before placing the tea down on his coffee table, stained with many rings in his absence of coasters, "I've no doubt about that. The media these days. Would you like to fill me in or have you just popped over for a chat?"

A flurry of movement brought another knife to Riddler's throat, so close to his jugular that it could have killed him right there and then. He forced calm into his eyes as he stared into the dark emeralds of Tobias's, colder than he remembered, more chaotic than he cared to think about. It was the way the child licked his bottom lip and half-lidded his eyes that unnerved him, as though the thought of the kill was more euphoric than being reunited with old friends. Time stood still whilst he felt the frozen metal threaten to go deeper for a moment, just a moment, before he pulled it back. The scar on his neck was a smile. Riddler wanted to kill Joker in that instant.

"I trusted you, Nigma. I thought I could trust you," he admitted quietly. The villain wanted to lean over and place a firm hand over Nightmare's shoulder, tell him that he could be trusted again, but he daren't make such a hazardous move. It would see his death.

"I know."

"But I was wrong – so very, very wrong. You left me for dead." He turned so as not to face the man he once consorted with, hiding the single tear that rolled down his cheek, "I vowed to kill you."

Riddler's nervousness prevailed, "Then why haven't you?"

"Because I don't want to kill you. Because…because I've seen enough friends die for one lifetime, and I don't want to kill one myself."

There was a hint of bitter defeat in Tobias's voice, something that Riddler thought he'd never hear from him. In that moment he wanted to pull him into a hug and tell him it would all be okay, but he knew the action would be pointless. The child had chosen not to kill him, and that would have to be enough.

"But I'm not a friend anymore," he couldn't help pointing out other's mistakes, even when it meant his life, "You wouldn't be killing a friend. You'd be killing me."

Tobias sighed, "You used to be a friend, and that's enough. I know that you saw my life as expendable; that's why you and Joker tried to kill me, but-"

"I _never _wanted to kill you. I didn't know about Joker until he turned up behind you. I was…I was horrified," Riddler's admission was quiet and sent Tobias hurtling through space, though his feet stayed firmly rooted to the floor. He wanted to go back to Riddler's words, but his were more important. Ego would have to wait.

"I came here today because I thought…I thought I could kill you. Contrary to popular belief, I don't really like murdering people who used to be kind to me," he clutched the chocolate bar close to his chest as his eyes went back to the villain, "Haywire's trying to kill me."

Riddler stood to cross his arms over his chest, "You can do it first. You're the best assassin I know."

"He's good, too. He's…he's better than good."

"You two fought before?"

A nod of confirmation. The hardened green eyes softened before they lowered to the floor, tears flooding his eyelids as he remembered the block that stopped his killing blow, the way he had scrambled from the broken George so he could heal and attack again. Riddler's hand dared to stroke the child's shaggy black hair and to his delight, he didn't push him away.

"What're you going to do?" he asked softly, so softly that it almost sounded like affection. Tobias gripped the chocolate bar tighter.

"I have to kill him. I've got to do it for my friends. But…but I'm…I'm…" he couldn't trust Riddler. He tried so hard to tell himself that he couldn't trust him but, with the soft hand stroking his hair and the tone on his voice, he couldn't quite convince himself, "I'm scared that he'll just kill me and tell everyone I killed my friends. He's a liar, Edward. He's a liar, and I never hurt them."

Nigma's eyes softened further, "Then we'll make sure he doesn't kill you."

Tobias looked up, so wanting to believe his words but at the same time, remembering that he knew nothing of Haywire's methods. The man was insane. He was good at what he did and normally, that would earn the child's respect. In that instance though, he just wanted his blood to seep through his fingers and stain his cloak.

"How?" he was so quiet. He was so small. Riddler suddenly noticed how small he was when he took a bony hand in his, soft despite the limited body fat, frozen due to the harsh weather outside.

"Let me call in some favours."


	10. Dates and Time

Haywire had been a cruel man ever since he was born. It was rumoured that he had strangled his twin brother with his own umbilical cord, and his second kill had been a sweet young girl on the run from her boyfriend.

There was a problem with those rumours, of course. The problem was that he wasn't clever enough to get away with those crimes, his mind undeveloped due to his mother's alcoholism and his fingers not nearly as nimble as that of Tobias's. It had driven him to such rage that the child had been so lucky; his family were Hell bent on making him quick to think and quick to act, whilst the Granger's were nothing but drunkards without a skill to their name. George deserved better. He knew he deserved better.

So he had killed them one sunny January morning, when the chill was bitter enough to make a baby cry. Throats were slashed as Haywire rid himself of such shameful family members; first his mother, then his father, then his triplet brothers that were but a year older than him. The dog was spared though released into the woods, where it met its fateful end at the hands of a wild bear.

Tobias had been so much more skilful than him. When telling his story to the eager children around the table, the leader had been silent. His face was covered by the shadow emanating from the corners as he propped his feet against the wooden legs, rocking backwards in his chair without a flicker of emotion, listening as though it were a test to be analysed. Hannah, ever the sort to follow her mentor's footsteps, tried her best to keep some sense of dignity, granted it was difficult with a story as exciting as George's.

And when he had finished on his grand survival, Tobias hadn't reacted. He simply looked up, smiled, and said nothing. The rest of the children were amazed – they had a right to be, what with the twenty five year old living their lives, proving it was possible to prolong themselves – but Tobias's behaviour annoyed him. He craved attention. The desperation to earn some sort of respect drove him to the edge, where he went spiralling down into the dark abyss below.

"Toby," the child looked up from his cleaning, alert that Bruce was coming before he had even walked up the stairs, "I'm going to dinner tonight. I've got to meet Carmen. Will you be alright with just Alfred in the house?"

Tobias snorted, but only because he had dared called his manor a 'house.' Any house that possessed more rooms than a museum wasn't meant for human life; instead, he envisioned that the entire place would one day be used for military purposes, where the rich sent the poor to death and forced them to impale each other for the good of their countries. Without a word the boy turned back, intent on making his knife shine before the moon peeked out from the curtains.

But Bruce hadn't heard an answer, "I can cancel it. It's not that important anyway – shouldn't leave the house when you're here. You might need me."

"Don't put yourself out on my account," Tobias replied as he heard the doorframe creak, his father surely leaning against it with that pained expression on his face, "You should see Ms Hammond. She's not the type you can just…" he pulled the knife up to see it glint in the moonlight, "Ignore."

"Tell you the truth; I don't really want to see her again. She's impatient."

"Aren't we all?"

"Not to the extent she is. On our last date together, she berated the waiter for the food taking fifteen minutes to cook."

"Sounds like a catch," Nightmare had that smile on his face again, the same one he wore when he was planning something. When he was certain that his father wasn't paying too much attention, he managed a whisper, "Sounded."

Bruce spent a little while in his son's bedroom, watching as the boy patiently worked on his knives and took extra special care around the carvings. They were shining silver in his hands, the sort that were bought from an illegal stall on an illegal street, next to a shop that sold severed chickens' heads and the occasional special offer on human hands. He watched whilst Tobias carefully cleaned the winding root like patterns and, as if it pleased him to feel the familiar details, ran his finger over the planned edge, his breath a huff and his eyes closed.

It should have disturbed Bruce. And, on some level, it did. But on others he found it quite beautiful, that someone had such a connection to something they owned. It was a talent after all – it was like a sinister version of an artist and their paintbrush, with the artist being a child assassin and the paintbrush being his weapon.

"Where did you get them?" he found himself asking, even though he was sure he didn't want to know the answer. Tobias let a smile flicker to his lips.

"A friend gave them to me."

"Hannah?"

"No."

"Who?"

"Mother," he looked up to see the shock in Bruce's eyes. It filled him with a certain sense of joy to see that, but he wasn't sure if it was a sinister joy or the sort that came when people shared things. A bit of both, he decided.

Wayne just wanted to keep the conversation going, "She gave you them? When?"

"When I was about three," his explanation drove him into the cesspit that was his childhood, "She gave them to me as a gift. She said they'd protect me when the spirits were being unkind, when she couldn't fight against them. It was…it's one of the few presents I had from her."

The defeat in his voice was something that Bruce hadn't expected. He thought that Tobias despised his deceased mother, that he wished she was nothing but a nightmare and he was really a boy born to a faceless beast; that way he could at least say he was a natural killer.

"Do you ever miss her?"

"Of course I do. She's my mother. But I have a feeling I'll see her again, when the time's right." He began to clean his already sparkling knife again, the expression he wore blank and guarded. Bruce was intrigued by his revelation. He wanted to press the matter but when he did, Tobias just smiled, as if it was a big secret that he couldn't tell and the billionaire would just have to figure it out.

A few hours passed in serene silence. Nightmare knew he was becoming far too used to his father's presence, what with the way his shoulders eased and he wasn't itching to cut the man's throat, but he couldn't pass up such a wonderful place to stay. It would take him weeks to find an abandoned apartment building, and Haywire could find him easily in that time…

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" he asked casually when he noticed the moon was high in the sky, dangling like a cheese-wheel above hungry mice, "Miss Hammond isn't the type to wait."

"You're enjoying this far too much."

"I'm just worried that you'll miss out on a date because of me, and she's the sort you want to keep around," his voice was laden with hidden meaning but he never revealed any more, his eyes cold when he turned to his father and gave him an all-too sincere smile, "It's good to keep your life going. I don't mean to intrude too much."

"I'd rather have you around than her. Why are you so interested, anyway?" his eyes narrowed, "You don't seem the sort to think about…love."

"I know it exists. It's self-evident that love makes the world go round – mothers, fathers, grandparents, partners. It's not like I'm blind. Just…personally, I don't think I'm capable of it. You should go. I'll be fine here."

"Are you sure?"

"Go. Have fun," his knife glinted once more, "Miss Hammond won't be around forever."


	11. Arrange

Riddler was quick to fashion the favours, and quicker to distribute them along his network of criminals. He wouldn't deal with the lesser known; with ease he discovered all of their hiding places, perhaps to prove to himself that there was no shame in not finding out where Tobias was, forced to contact him through the child's preferred means.

About a week after he had been visited, Edward sent the letter to the apartment building's address. He recognised it to be Nightmare's previous residence – a place that, sometime after Arkham City had tumbled and burned at the hands of angry citizens, had completely vanished from existence. He wasn't sure how Tobias got it but there seemed to be no trouble, what with the boy turning up at his own home some days after.

"Quite cryptic," he noted as he threw the envelope at him, seemingly unopened though Riddler spied a few tiny slits, just enough to pry the letter out and place it back inside once read.

"I thought it best," the man's hands were busy with preparing tea, "Don't want people to see we're working together, do we?" there was a moment in which the child was silent, as if calculating the idea of actually working with Riddler and being forced to trust the man. His smiley scar almost burnt his skin when he pressed a hand to it, his bottom lip bitten so hard it was drenched in blood.

He took the tea without looking at the criminal, sitting down on the newly bought chair so he could listen to their progress. There was a deep pit in his stomach when Riddler mentioned Crane; that madman wanted to use Tobias as a test subject, force the fear gas into his veins and record his reactions, find out what really made the child go mad. It was a fate he wouldn't wish on anyone.

Well, perhaps George…

"What's Penguin want in return?"

"He wants your head. Failing that, your hood."

"I'll give him the chance to waddle away again," the cup was brought to his frozen face, his words a snarl on his curled lips, "We don't need him to supply us."

Riddler understood the boy's frustration, perhaps more so than Tobias actually realised. It was soon after his phone call with the Penguin that he had fashioned an exact replica of the famed hood, made out of the patchy old sofa that he found on a night out and stitched together with some old twine. It wouldn't keep a long lasting façade but it would be enough to satisfy the collector, at least until Nightmare was back on his feet.

So he placed a calming hand on the child's cloaked shoulder, a smile on his lips, "We'll take what he offers and give him a duplicate instead. Who's to know? You'll have your cloak and we'll have our supplies. It's a win-win situation."

Tobias looked as though he would argue. His glinting green eyes peered suspiciously over the mug, each one showing the imminent distrust that tugged at Riddler's heartstrings, before simply sighing in what seemed like resignation. In that moment the criminal wanted to lean over and hug him, if only to assure him things would run smoothly.

They continued like that for a while, with the discussion predominantly on the arrangements and only detouring on small descriptions of Haywire. What little information Riddler had gathered helped but, when Tobias simply dismissed much of it, he felt those twinges of anger touching his thoughts, that little niggle that told him he deserved to be treated as a respected academic.

He bit it back for the most part, "When will you come back? I need to start writing up the agreements; formal stuff, you know."

"I'll be back…soon. Just have a pen and paper ready for when I turn up. And Riddler," he glanced back as he swung his leg out the window, leaving the still hot mug on the side without a second thought, smiling impishly when his eyes locked with the man, "I won't be late."

And he vanished out into the night.


	12. Frightfully Concerned

Tobias sharpened his knives against the new belt he had bought. It was a lavish leather thing – a little gift to himself for all he had been through over recent months, granted he just wanted to see it wrapped around Haywire's neck. Riddler looked down as the boy continued to work, thoroughly intrigued by it and eager to know what he was planning.

But they had more pressing matters to attend to, which was the reason why they were in Edward's personal car on their way to visit Crane. He had been having a troublesome time in convincing him that Nightmare meant business; business that, should the good Doctor be involved in it, would pay off much more efficiently than their last scheme had. It was only a matter of time before he requested what he had requested, and Tobias actually wanted to laugh at the thought that he had been so predictable.

"Aren't you nervous?" the green-clad man asked as they hurtled down isolated roads, surrounded entirely by black twisted trees and the odd shack where a grave-keeper lived. At least, that's what Tobias assumed lived there.

"Why would I be nervous?" he replied without looking up, his work on his knives far too important to be distracted from.

"Answering a question with a question isn't really an answer at all."

"But you understood what I meant by it, therefore it must be an answer," that time he looked up, if only to stare coldly into Riddler's eyes and remind him of the insanity he was known for, "Why would I be nervous?"

It was hard for Edward to stop his gulp whilst he grappled with the gear stick, "Crane's fear gas is…potent. It'll be quite the trial to go through in order to gain his trust. I'm not sure it's worth the risk."

"That's why he wants me to do it; he wants to know if I've got my father's willpower, and I'm more than happy to show him I do," the child returned to his periodic sharpening as he spoke, like the thought of facing his worst fears didn't really bother him that much, "You shouldn't really care that much. It's not you going through it."

Riddler wanted to scream at him that he cared because he would go through it, that he would be forced to watch the child struggle against unseen horrors and things that didn't bear thinking about, all because of one madman's plot to understand his weaknesses. It was just because he didn't want Tobias in absolute terror that he recoiled at the thought, though he couldn't make sense of why he worried about the boy so much. He was a killer. If it were Riddler's name on his contracts and not just a personal kill, Nightmare would have quickly dealt with him.

The silence descended on them again. It was a peaceful sort; the kind that rose between families that saw each other every day, the type of thing that was heard in a living room once the children had gone to bed. Riddler wished that they could be lost in that peace forever, but their lives were anything but kind to them.

Relatively smooth road soon turned bumpy underneath them, so much so that Tobias had to sheath his precious dagger and actually focus on what was going on. The trees had slowly whittled down into burnt stumps. The sky had become hazy with pollution and choking black cloud, broken only by the occasional beam of light from some high-powered spot, whilst the once rich earth around them vanished under the weight of dying vegetation. He wanted to cry for the loss of nature – it hurt him to see the world dying, when it was humans that should have perished for its beauty.

"Why does it always look so much prettier on postcards?" he asked before he could stop himself. Riddler heard the small, confused voice of a little boy rather than the strong criminal he had known, and it was hard for his to supress a smile when he replied.

"Media," was his answer, accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders and a flash of his teeth, "They're determined to make it seem like we're killing the planet."

"We are. Look at her. She's dying…"

"Now you're beginning to sound like Ivy. Besides, I thought you weren't an advocate for life?" with that the silence returned, if a little broken by the tears that built in Tobias's eyes, the sobs that never quite escaped his throat.

It was hard to think of him as a lover for Mother Earth. When he had been a baby, it was nature that had cradled him against its bosom. It was the sweet birdsong he woke up to that had made him look forward to the day. It was the smell of a fresh stream and newly grown apples that caused his happiest memories, out in the countryside when his grandfather had moved them for a time, off in a world he didn't know and away from the putrid stench of Gotham and her inhabitants. Poison Ivy had often been curious about the young boy's tenderness for her plants, though he had destroyed too many to be on her good side.

Finally, they came to the end of the road. The carnage around them was quickly squashed by a stone black sun, sitting on the horizon solidly on pre-planned foundations, completed by a wizened old graveyard out back that hadn't quite been tended to properly. Tobias admired the pointed spear fence that wrapped around it like a scarf, with the stone underneath it covered in mildew and a little buckle that presented as a huge black gate.

"We're here," Riddler's voice broke into his voice, solemn in regards to their surroundings, "Crane's inside. This…this isn't going to be easy, Nightmare. We can turn back now and not enlist his help, if you think that would be best."

But there was a fire in Tobias's eyes as he turned, biting his lip in anticipation of what was to come, "The needle won't hurt that much."


	13. The Fear of the Damned

Tobias felt himself grow fearful as they wandered through the hallway, adorned with beautiful gothic wall sconces and lit by flickering candlelight. There were few paintings but the ones that were there were particularly disturbing, depicting half-alive animals crawling their way to mutilated sunlight, the people in them contorted until they looked like an unfinished Tetris game.

Crane had one of his lackeys leading them through. He preferred to stay in his study rather than interact with people, where he would be allowed to wander through his research and stay in relative peace when he worked. The books wouldn't judge his situation or his fascination with fear; they would just stand there silently until he was finished, watching him with invisible eyes and straight back stare.

"The doctor's through here," the boy with the thinning grey hair said when they reached a wooden door, his features sunken as though he hadn't slept in weeks, "He's not working on any experiments at the moment. That's…he's not got any test subjects." The last part was added with a meaningful glance at Nightmare before he turned, quick to vanish off so that he wouldn't be requested to help. Tobias had seen the pinprick holes in his arm – it seemed Jonathan Crane had more than one use for his 'interns.'

Riddler was careful as his hand traced the door. He admired the iron fixtures and big clanging door handle, shaped like those earrings that some of the working class girls wore with some black paint flaking off it. It was with a nervous face that he looked at Tobias, who had fallen silent with his hood thrust over his eyes, his mood taking a dark turn for the worst whilst he stared at the door.

"Can still turn back," he reminded softly, though he was met by a stare that told him all he needed to know.

There was no turning back for Tobias. He had come too far to abandon his friends' memories. He had seen and done too much with them to just leave behind the past, especially since Haywire was still walking free. Still breathing.

So without a word, he pushed his whole bodyweight onto the door in front, which slowly creaked open to reveal the biggest library ever seen. The gasp that came from Riddler's throat was involuntary but, when Crane had lifted his brown crested head from his intensely difficult work, they knew that there would be no more mistakes. He smiled at them both, mostly at Tobias, his crows' feet creasing at the corners of his eye sockets and his gloved hand running through his hair.

"I didn't think you'd come," he said with that creepy laugh, "Thought that this may be too much of a challenge."

Tobias didn't reply immediately as he stalked up to the desk, stained by coffee and the general marks of time, "You've not used this stuff on me before. Would be nice to see what all the fuss is about, what with everyone saying how potent it is."

There was a quick glance passed between Edward and Jonathan when the child spoke, but for incredibly different reasons. The green-clad supervillian was simply trying to say that the test was unnecessary, that Tobias was back on his feet and Scarecrow would be returned to his original glory through him, yet Crane's eyes were filled with menacing glee. How interesting that the child assassin would come to him after so much time, ready to let him administer a drug that he was so defiant against.

"I assure you; you won't be disappointed," he purred before diving into one of the many desk drawers, searching for the little syringe gauntlet he had crafted on a lazy day in and the small vials of gas, "It's quite exciting to get a new test subject. Rarely do we get one as willing as you, and it's even rarer that they're so interesting."

Tobias didn't bother answering him because he didn't think he had to, though he just wanted to scream at the top of his voice. He searched the monotonous walls that were covered in shelves, each book upon them more boring than the last, yet he could find nothing that took his attention away, save the small creak of Riddler as he took a chair nearest to the door. There was a small door somewhere on the left side which was surrounded by the shelves, looking like it was locked for experimental use and making Tobias all the more nervous about his situation. When he saw the glove-gauntlet and the sharpened needles, his heart rate began to pick up.

Voluntary stabbings. That's what he had referred to injections as – doctors sticking needles through someone's skin in the same way he would his daggers, granted both of them had very different intentions. Whereas his daggers killed, those syringes saved. Those syringes contained the very essence of life in some manner and, whenever he found himself faced with one, he just remembered the feeling of Joker cutting his neck open, his blood spilling on the stone steps underneath him whilst he began to lose himself to death. It wasn't that he was bitter but he wanted Haywire to be the next person stabbed, not himself.

"This will induce your worst nightmares and start acting them out in front of you," the doctor explained with that same excitement in his voice, eager no matter what he did to supress it, "We'll be in that room next door. This should be such fun!" before anyone could react, make a move towards the door, Crane quickly yanked at Tobias's hair and pulled his head to the side, where he had a clear shot towards the throbbing jugular in his neck, the perfect artery that felt warm to his touch.

Nightmare resisted the urge to fight back. He resisted the urge to feel embarrassed. He resisted every instinct screaming at him as he felt Crane examine his neck, his eyes as hot as the brand in the fireplace crackling beside them and Riddler's heavy breathing the only other sound.

"Such a strong specimen…" intense pain cracked through Nightmare's joints when the syringe was thrust in, no sense of gentleness about the doctor in his mad quest for fear. Sweat broke from his forehead since he was keeping his mouth shut so tightly, feeling the liquefied substance start slipping into his veins and vanishing into his body, where he would surely feel the effects before the day was out.

"You're a crazy bastard," he heard Riddler say as the world became hazy; "He's just a boy."

"Humans are humans. Another will come along to replace Nightmare, should he not be as strong as many claim him to be."

"For your sake, I hope he does."


	14. The Crane and the Riddle

Riddler watched as the doctor placed Nightmare away, as though he were an infected child in some sort of zombie film. His hands clasped around the cane that was otherwise idly twirling in his fingers; something gnawed at his stomach whilst he watched, but he didn't know what.

"Fascinating…" Crane murmured when he had returned to his desk, penning down some notes like they were there for a simple check-up and Tobias was just his patient. There was no love in Edward's eyes when he looked at the fellow madman, his teeth taken from their assault on his bottom lip to be the barrier for his tongue. Insults would do nothing but weaken their arrangement.

Inside the dark room of experimentation, Tobias made no sounds. There were no screams from the child as the minutes ticked by, nothing that could warn Riddler that it was becoming too much and they would only gain the shell of the formidable boy they knew, broken beyond repair. Tapping echoed through the grand library whilst they waited, a tapping that didn't quite grate on Crane's nerves but he saw as an unnecessary excess of noise.

"How did you come to travel with him?" he asked casually so that his companion would be distracted, stopping the echoes that emanated through his library as the man looked up, suspicious, quiet. When he repeated the question, it was with a fair bit of reassurance that he wasn't looking for weakness, just a simple inquiry that had sprung up.

"He came to me," Edward admitted quietly, "The reports on the news; they weren't particularly accurate and he wanted me to know that. Me personally, he said." There was arrogance in his voice when he replied, like he wasn't surprised Tobias had chosen to go to him and tell him of the media's skewed view of things, granted he knew the true story was far more unflattering. Crane didn't need to know that version.

The doctor nodded as he idly made more notes, his hand smoothly gliding over the snow white paper whilst his eyes stayed rooted to the door, "I didn't suspect they would be. They do like to demonise our crusades."

Truer words were never spoken. Unlike Joker's general mayhem and Riddler's obsession for the convoluted, Tobias had only wanted to clean the city up in a way he saw fit, in the only way he thought would help with all the horror going on. Why allow the wicked to live? Why allow the sinful to breathe? Why was it him who was masquerading as the villain when it was they who made all the bad decisions; they, the masses that were so terrified of his daggers, who put themselves in his path?

But Riddler wouldn't let himself get lost in the injustice of the world. He had tried to understand it for a time, when he was a boy just scampering out after his father's harsh tyranny, but it proved to be too wide a spectrum to study. He had settled for his riddles whilst allowing the public to drown themselves in chaos, which he used to make his puzzles all the more complex. Tobias was trying to change their way of thinking – indirectly of course, but still attempting the impossible. It just showed his naivety.

"Has he spoken about his travels?" his thoughts shattered to the tune of Crane's voice. He looked up, eyes glazed over as he stared into the dull grey coals that his companion sported, frozen in a fear that was long since pushed back. It took him a moment to gather himself again, and a while longer for him to reply.

"How do you know he's been travelling?"

"Nightmare isn't the sort to just stop killing for two years. It's a compulsion. It's rather like you with your little riddles," he grinned as he said that but went on before Edward could protest, "We would have heard about his kills. We would have seen the bodies start to wash up somewhere, no matter how careful he was. His contracts," there was a quick gesture towards a bunch of filing cabinets, hidden perfectly with the décor and made to look like dusty old shelves, "I've kept some of them over the years, the ones I could find. Too much money to pass up."

Edward knew he couldn't keep Tobias's journey a secret, "He's been keeping residences in a smaller city somewhere north of here. I don't know much about it, not even the name. I'll find it out though!" he added the last part with a slight note of desperation, granted it was in his nature to discover things. Nightmare wouldn't keep his secrets for long. Not if the Riddler had anything to say about it.

"Hm," Crane looked up with a glint in his eye, the threat of a smile on his lips, "You don't care for him, do you? It'd be such a shame if you did."

"There's no reason for me to care for him. He's just like any one of us – he's crazy." There was no conviction in Riddler's flat voice, hinting towards a slight predisposition to the child he was slating. The evidence didn't fall away from the doctor as he let a full smile erupt, an inane grin that made his companion sick to his stomach and clouded in the mind.

"The crazy ones are often the ones we fall for," he noted calmly before shoving a glass of something at his fellow killer; it looked to be whisky, and Riddler took it with a slight suspicion in his gaze, "Isn't that what time has taught us? Miss Kyle fell for Batman though she doesn't care to admit it; Ivy for her bothersome plants; Harley for Joker-"

A scream erupted from the door. In that moment Edward wanted to spring up and save the little madman, rid him from the evil that was surely clouding his mind and forcing him into the horror that lay within it; memories upon memories, knives upon blood. It took every ounce of strength for the green clad killer to remain in place, his eyes misted by a barely supressed rage.

Crane was checking the half-broken watch on his wrist, "Twenty one minutes, thirty eight seconds. Hm. That's much longer than I would have anticipated."

"How long did you anticipate?" the bitter taste of whisky swirled in his mouth, calming him to a point where he didn't want to slice the man's neck open.

Another smile, another flash of the mad eyes, "Asking that type of question won't make me think you don't care for Nightmare. His madness should have taken him during the first twenty seconds. I wonder what he could be seeing in there?" the fascination was almost pleasurable as the doctor paced around his room, listening to his subject's screams like they were the finest music in the world. He even began to hum a tune to them. It made Riddler sick whilst he swirled more whisky in his mouth, granted he was silent about it.

"Perhaps it's a clown?"


	15. The Coldness of a Madman's Touch

Tobias didn't say a word when he came out of the room. He remained silent when they had clambered into Riddler's car and the madman sped off down the road, thankful as the child to leave Crane's presence. With a pasty white face and sad eyes, Nightmare looked down in the tediously clean foot-well his feet rested in, his mind far away from the beaten little car, his hands absentmindedly clutching at the leather seat beneath him.

Riddler didn't ask questions. There was no need; he heard from the screams that the child had seen his mother in there, his father too, and several names that he didn't recognise or wanted to know. Beads of sweat still trickled down the boy's face when he had stepped out, looking as white as a sheet and sick as a dog with its leg cut off.

With one arm rested against his opened window, the green supervillian said the only thing that came to mind, "Hungry?" he was met with a cold stare, a broken stare, the sort that came from someone who had just watched their family be killed right in front of them, only to be questioned later about their involvement. Riddler had to suck down a sigh as he continued, "There's a wonderful little drive-thru just before we enter Gotham. Lovely people there."

Silence droned on whilst the boy turned his head, unwilling to answer Edward and his inane questions. The horror of what he had seen still plagued him but his mind – his perfect, exquisite, fragile little mind – remained intact…as intact as it was ever going to be.

Thin fingers traced the rain that dripped down the window, Riddler's own being rolled up as the black clouds began swathing the sky. His lifeless green eyes followed the mindless trails to the best of their abilities, noting how they joint with others to become slightly bigger, surveying their journey until it came to a miserable end at the bottom of the glass. Madness. Sweet controlled madness falling all around them, yet he hadn't the power to stop it. He had no soul that wasn't blackened by the stains of injustice, nothing that would make him holier than the people he saw every day; not even his Hannah could redeem him. The world descended further into chaos as lightning raked over the sky, the forks stabbing into the black skin of the beast above them that rumbled pure thunder in response, nearly causing Riddler to lose control of his 'car.'

He had watched Tobias's cautious little actions with the raindrops and, quite frankly, it hurt him somewhere that he thought was long dead. The way the child idly moved his fingers to chase the trails was moving if out of character for one such as him, the tip of his tongue poking through his thin lips whilst he concentrated on what he was doing. It was obvious he was losing himself to his thoughts; one of the many dangers that came being so perceptive. Riddler watched, heartbroken, as the child let his hand lie flat on the window and slowly, oh so slowly, it slid down the frozen glass, like a stone sinking beneath the murky black ocean. Lights flashed past Nightmare's dulled eyes as he stared listlessly onto the motorway, at each car that whizzed past them without a care for their speed.

Some-time later they pulled into the drive-thru, which was simply a little café that had tried to adapt to modern times. A welcoming woman ushered them in, her portly frame keeping in theme with the pink decorations and warm smells of fresh coffee, her eyes vibrant as she told them of her new opening times and a baby that had just made her a grandmother. Tobias didn't smile when she brought them to one of the small tables, nor did he react when she placed a warm hand on his shoulder to take his order. It was only when Riddler chose for him that she left them alone, off to make something that the child hadn't listened to whilst she told her ageing husband about their customers, how one seemed so saddened.

But Nightmare could imagine. He imagined her blood spilling into the dyed brown hair that sat atop her head, the necklace with Jesus on it being destroyed whilst his daggers found the pulsating artery in her neck. There wasn't a reason for his thoughts – they were as chaotic and bloodthirsty as his mind, and that was a place no sane man would find himself in.

Riddler watched him with interest in his green eyes. Slight hints of sadism crept into his gaze when he looked at their surroundings, each cubic metre of pink wallpaper decorated by a flowering rosebud and made homely with family pictures; eight babies, several nieces and nephews, enough brothers and sisters. No recognition for human life touched his expression. Tobias saw only targets in those pictures, albeit they would become targets in the years to come, after they had reached 'adulthood' or the boy's minimum age of thirteen.

"Riddle me this," Edward said softly after what seemed like an age, "I am the darkness that fills your mind; I am not happy nor kind, I am the reason you keep your light on at night, I am that which devours the bright, I can make children not sleep, I am what makes grown men weep, I am what keeps the world in order, I am what creates horror. What Am I?"

Tobias looked up from the checked table cloth in front of them, his hands presenting themselves on top as recognition crept through his eyes, "You're fear."

His voice could have made grown men weep. Indeed, Riddler was close. Instead of the strong confidence that he once possessed, it came in a mere shadow, a little whisper of what the boy was and had been. That whimpering, mewling little child came back for a second as Tobias looked out into the storm beside them, the window's curtains open because the landlady did love her tempests and, in her own words, car thieves would steal anything that wasn't bolted down. The only thing that didn't match the décor inside was the tarmacked earth outside, in which Riddler's car rested like a sleeping bull.

"Crane will help us." He offered once the food had arrived; two piping hot plates of spaghetti with chocolate cake on the way.

"I know."

"That's what you wanted all along, isn't it?" the question came as no surprise to the little boy, though he was incapable of answering it after such a trial. He had proven he had his father's will but for what purpose? What purpose did he have to prove something so trivial?

And Riddler didn't want the silence to start up again, "Perhaps all will be well after you've gone to sleep. A good night's rest and all that childish nonsense they plague us with."

"Perhaps," the child took a cautious bite as he spoke, careful not to show himself as weak or partial to eating what he was given, "You want to know what happened."

It was a statement, not a question. Riddler could only give him a small nod in confession, knowing that it would be pointless to lie to the master of lies, to the one child who could detect dishonesty faster than he could figure out his family tree. There was a soft sigh as the child began to curl spaghetti around his fork, his fingers careful not to twitch over his knife and replace it for a spoon.

"My mother was there."

"You screamed about it."

"So was my father. The Batman was…different. He wasn't depicted properly in my thoughts," he took a moment to savour the conflicting flavours he wasn't used to, "And a group of my friends. They were…they were extremely different. My Hannah…" his eyes went back into that lifeless stage for a brief second, but only a second. He wouldn't fall victim to his own thoughts again.

Riddler sympathetically (and carefully) placed a comforting hand on the boy's own, surprised that he didn't flinch away from it and scream blue fury, "That's an awful predicament to be in." Tobias could only shrug in response, as he was unused to someone showing the slightest bit of care.

"That's life. The only particularly worrying part was when I was Joker's son – the laughter was frustrating!" a rare, genuine smile crept along the ghostly white face in front of Edward, making him feel higher than the Heavens when he looked upon it. Blooms of hope exploded in his chest as the formidable hardiness came back into the child's eyes, something that he had admired when they worked together and had taken for granted when they interacted.

"One couldn't imagine a more Hellish Nightmare," he grinned.


	16. My Plan

By the time Tobias flipped back into Wayne Manor, he was surprised that his father was still awake. Bruce sat in a comfortable red armchair near the crackling fire, sipping on a scotch that he had poured some time before, looking at the clock as the hours ticked by and his son remained out in the city.

His exclamation was enough to make the child jump, "Toby! Where've you been? I've been worried sick all night!" brown eyes locked onto the ghostly white visage that was Tobias, his pigment still like that of a spectre after his encounter with Crane and the ever potent fear gas. Silence instantly reigned as Bruce dared leaned forward with his fingers stretched, daring to ghost a touch along the phantom in front of him.

"What happened?" he whispered whilst his cold fingertips stroked his cheeks, still frozen from the raging storm outside. The boy didn't answer his father, instead choosing to close his lifeless green eyes and embrace the rare touch on his skin, each breath that he took billowing out white smoke.

The silence continued to drone on as Bruce took advantage of the situation, softly calming his son with gentle pets and a hushing tone that he had practiced some days before, just in case they ever found themselves in such a situation.

"Joker," Tobias's eyes flitted open after a while, their usual fire building whilst he repeated himself, "Joker."

"You went to see Joker?" the billionaire narrowed his eyes in disbelief before he rose, abandoning the comfortable seat so he could pour himself another scotch and make some tea, "The guy who tried to kill you?"

"I didn't go to see him. I went to see Crane. I'm sure he sends his regards, by the way," creaks sounded behind Bruce as Tobias jumped on the armchair, his crouch like that of a predator on the hunt, his hands pressed against the backrest so he could peer curiously at his father, "I need to see Joker, and soon. He'll be able to help us where the others can't."

Bruce wasn't quite sure he understood. He knew that he would be responsible for his son's survival against Haywire, that it was Batman who needed to keep himself focused throughout their trials and ensure that Nightmare was kept alive, but he didn't know about any additional help. It was only after his silence that Tobias decided to explain.

"You aren't the only one I need. If I'm to finally get rid of Haywire, I'm going to use all the help I can get. You'll have to work with the enemy."

"Are you seriously asking me to work with Joker and Harley Quinn? After all they've put Gotham through? After what they've done to me, all the people they've killed?!" wild eyes met the calm ones that sat at the chair, where Tobias seemed unbothered by his father's sudden anger as he fiddled with the red fabric, "How do you even know they won't kill me on sight?!"

The child smiled at him; it was that weak smile that told him he didn't, that the entire plan relied on how Joker felt at the time and how quickly Tobias could convince him. Every instinct in Bruce's mind screamed at him to rebuke his son and demand for a much better option, something that didn't involve working with one of the most homicidal criminals to ever grace the earth, but he couldn't quite find the words. He couldn't look into those glinting green eyes and tell him that he didn't agree. It just wasn't possible.

So he settled for sighing heavily as he took another swig of his scotch, his ears pricked to hear the unplanned scenarios that Tobias had concocted.

The child took his cue without too much hesitation, "Riddler's already agreed to work with me, and Crane's definitely on board after tonight. He…the trial hurt, but not too much. It'll be useful to have what he used on me at my disposal."

Bruce managed to grit his teeth before he shouted. Images of Tobias writhing in pure terror leapt into his mind, his only son struggling against the unseen horrors that plagued his mind as Crane watched, like his twisted fantasies were being played out in front of him.

"If I manage to contact him, I think Mister Freeze will work with us. It'll be harder to get Penguin on board – he wants my cloak, but we'll be making a replica to give him."

"Freeze won't get involved unless it benefits his wife."

"We have a history. I'm hoping he'll remember that when I go to him. If not, then I'll find some way to help his wife in return. Could you get Catwoman on board?"

The billionaire turned, eyebrows furrowed whilst he thoughtfully sipped on his drink, "What makes you think she'll do anything for me?"

"Seriously? Are you blind as a bat? She's in love with your persona – she'll do anything for you if you ask her to. Remember Arkham City?" a slight falter occurred as Bruce remembered it, how his flirtatious counterpart had come to his rescue and abandoned her loot in the process. That couldn't be the result of love, could it? It was just because she didn't want that on her conscience, knowing that she could have saved someone but chose instead to disappear…wasn't it?

"Fine, I'll ask her. I can't guarantee anything."

"And you think I'm in the business of absolutes? Just ask her and we'll take it from there. Now, I'll be the one asking Joker, if he doesn't shoot me on-"

"You won't be going anywhere near him. I'll ask Joker and Quinn."

"They'll shoot you on sight. Let me deal with my people; they won't kill a fellow killer unless I pose a threat, so I'll try my best not to." He let his gaze rise until he looked at his fathers. His face was creased by ancient heartache as a million things passed through his eyes, each one as hurtful as the last, each one like daggers to Bruce's heart whilst he waited for the boy to continue.

"Mother's definitely dead, isn't she?" he asked in that tiny voice. Tears built when Bruce nodded, as if they had been one big happy family at one point and her death had shattered that. "That's…that's good, I suppose. It'll make my grandfather much weaker than he should be. I'll be able to contact him without fear that he'll kill me on sight."

Eyes widened, a glass hit the cabinet, "You're going to Ra's?!"

"All the help I can get," the boy reminded him as he turned on his heels, one finger in the air whilst he leapt to the floor, "He'll be able to give me control of Talia's army, and he'll do it because he'll want me to stay. He wants his heir. By all rights, I am that heir." His hardened eyes returned as a smile stretched on his lips, like he had planned the events that led to such a convenient arrangement, since it was hard to put it down to pure luck.

Bruce let himself gather his thoughts, by which time his son had already strode to the door and was about to vanish out of it, "How do you know they'll help you? How do you know they won't kill you?" Tobias stopped, his hand gripping the door, a sigh passing through his lips whilst he tried to bring his thoughts together and make them coherent. His voice came out much smaller than he intended.

"If I go to them, there's a chance they won't kill me. If I don't go to them, Haywire definitely will."


	17. Time Bomb

"Tick tock, tick tock," Tobias hummed under his breath as he counted the cuts, each one made on the post of his bed rather than the soft sponge of his skin. The days passed by endlessly whilst he could only watch them, aware that each moment brought him closer to his destiny, that every fleeting second would find him either at the end of Haywire's power or in possession of the man's blood.

How he had been dreaming of that moment. Amongst the clutter of old memories and heartache for his mother, that grand dream floated as though taunting him. The crimson blood flowed from a freshly sliced neck that he watched, mesmerised, similar to how he had acted after his first kill and his first taste of bloodlust. The daggers fit perfectly in his clutched hands whilst the world around them melted, dying with the light that still shone in George's pitiful eyes.

And he had whispered so softly under his breath, "I hope you burn in the deepest pit of Hell."

Bruce was concerned for his son's isolation. There was that sort of fatherly affection for the boy that he had possessed for some time, if only in a dream due to Tobias's absence and his apparent hatred of such things. The vigilante watched him when he thought the child didn't know, either from the doorway when he presumed him to be asleep or from the end of his bed, where Nightmare mimicked snoring so that he would eventually be left alone.

Mister Freeze had agreed almost immediately to his plan. It wasn't to protect him that he had agreed but to protect his wife, as every villain that entered Gotham was a potential threat to her, his Nora, his Lady of the Ice. Tobias didn't need his friendship; it was with ease that he accepted the help, and with more ease that he'd bade goodbye to the resting woman that he suspected never to regain consciousness.

Penguin? That fat bumbling bird hadn't been an easy ally to make, what with his insistence that his guns were worth a hood and his men were worth a head. Tobias had agreed to give him his hood – a replica, one that was perfectly stitched and looked so similar to the one he wore, he couldn't tell the difference himself – before he offered his blood for the men, if only a vial that would be put on display for all to see. It was rumoured that the child's blood was blackened like the ink of his unwritten birth certificate, and that story alone made it worth a fortune. So the Penguin had readily accepted the terms and signed his name on a contract, granted he would have broken it no matter what name lay there.

And Bruce had made quick work of the cunning Catwoman, who was eager to see the boy that she hadn't spoken to in a while. Oh she masked it behind a façade of indifference, her namesake's finest quality, but her eyes held that interesting spark that told them all that they would ever need to know. Tobias smiled as he imagined those pretty eyes, so alive with wonder that it would be a shame to deny them.

That left only three villains unaccounted for. Joker and Quinn were the next on the boy's long list of undesirables, their names smudged in some sort of symbolic reference and scribbled over a few times when he didn't think he had the heart to face them, but they were one of his only hopes. With Joker's psychotic perfectionism and Quinn's blind devotion, they would make a deadly pair to have on any team. Nightmare would be damned if they weren't on his.

Isolation helped him prepare. It helped him collect his thoughts in a thoughtless world. It helped him wade through the muck and chaos that rested around him so he could come to a conclusion, one that was so far yet so close, taunting him with the perfection that rested behind it. How he would have killed – and he had – to feel that perfect good against him, rather like Plato and his theory of the world of forms, if more realistic in the assassin's way.

So he prepared and thought, and tried to make himself see sense that meant he would never see Harley again. He had never forgiven her for the betrayal. He couldn't ever forgive her for allowing such a monstrosity; her boyfriend slicing his neck with his sacred dagger, blessed by a thousand contracts and the Spirits that guided him. He had a sense for irony, but he didn't have a sense of humour when it came to it.

There was nothing for it; he would have to look upon the face that had hurt him so, even though he had kept his promise to her whereas the Joker hadn't. Her baby's life would have been in Nightmare's hands and, if he had known her cruelty extended so far, he would have gladly killed it himself. Better off dead than in the arms of a madwoman.

Then there was Ra's, his maddened grandfather who so blindly followed his path to 'glory.' They hadn't seen each other since Tobias was six years old, when he was exiled from the League despite being the only irrefutable heir, and he felt that those wounds were still open. Six years had passed with no words. No apology had ever been uttered. It would be the child who had to turn a blind eye to misdeeds, at least until he found a quiet point in which he could extract his revenge. Perhaps he could do so after gaining control of the Elite, his mother's well-trained minions?

Talia. Talia al Ghul; his mother and in some ways, his arbitrator. She had trained him to the point where no other would be suitable, her techniques well suited for the boy she had brought into the world, her face gentle when he wasn't looking and hardened when he was.

Those memories of their cold winter days in the training grounds were far off, but memories they remained. She shouted at him that his hits were too weak – she screamed at him the same thing until he had broken the brick she held, fuelled by a rage that was incapable of a normal four year old. Then they went through the finesse that was required of Elite, and would be expected of the child should he ever have taken over. He had watched her, admired her, loved her.

But she had died, and he had long since been alone. Bruce was there but only in a dream. Batman was there, but to the extent he could be. Tobias's life had revolved around killing and hardship for too long; to break it would be to break himself.

"Toby?"

He looked up from the enigma that was his thoughts, his eyes void of all recognition as he gazed at the chiselled features and touched up face of his father. If the child didn't know any better, he would have claimed plastic surgery. Because he knew better, he thought lucky genes.

"Toby," the billionaire sighed before he took up a part of the bed, his bulky frame weighing down on the soft mattress beneath them, "I'm worried about you. You're up here too much. You haven't been down to dinner."

A small smile stretched on the boy's face, "I'm fine."

"Then why aren't you downstairs right now?"

"Why do I need to be downstairs?"

"You're avoiding the question."

"You're avoiding the answer."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"Whatever you want it to," the boy fell back on the solid oak headboard behind him, his eyes hardened and unreadable to the master detective, "Because no matter what I tell you, you're always going to believe something different. No matter what I say, you'll trust yourself before you trust me. So what's the answer? Have you decided yet?"

Tobias had that skill over all others. He knew that with the smallest sentences possible, he could bring their whole personality into question and make them turn back on themselves, as if they had been in the wrong. It wasn't a skill he'd developed over time but, rather, one he had been born with, similar to a disease that plagued unlucky children's faces.

So he watched the falter in his father's eyes and smiled when he looked at him, like he didn't know what he had done. He waited for an answer that never came to him, instead allowing the man to stand up as he looked aimlessly around the room; a spare room that he had allocated to his son last minute, a twisted turn of events that wouldn't have trouble normal men.

Did he trust himself more than Tobias? Did he think his words held more credit than that of his son?

Yes, and they always would.

"You should come downstairs," he said, though with a great deal less confidence in his voice, "We missed you at dinner tonight." The child could only muster his most fake of smiles, his feet tucked under him as he unsheathed one of his swords and began to clean it.

"Did you?" he asked in that unbelieving tone, "Because far as I can tell, you should be used to eating alone. It's hard, isn't it? Pretending you're happy?"

Bruce fixed him with another hard stare. Finally; the Batman was making an appearance.

"You don't know what to say to people, even though you can talk to them. They're hearing your words but they're not listening to them. They're…they're worshipping neon and digital Gods, while you? You're pretending that you can stand to be their protector, when you've lost everything to them."

"That's enough, Toby."

"And you want to cry so badly. You want to scream at them until your voice is hoarse, but they wouldn't hear you anyway. They're too wrapped up in themselves. What's the Batman got to lose? What's the Batman ever had?"

"I said that's enough."

"You lost the woman you loved. You lost the nemesis you loved, and he came back just to try and murder your son. Then you lost your son, though you never really had him in the first place, did you? Oh, Batman lost everything before he even had it. Isn't that just heart-breaking?"

Bruce suddenly leapt over the bed and gripped his son by the throat, that fire in his eyes terrifying to someone untrained. If Alfred were in the room he would have been shocked, perhaps repulsed at the way his master squeezed his own boy's neck, one great hand clasped over it as he glared mercilessly into his eyes. Tobias's hands came up to grip the one on him – they were so small in comparison, so soft when met with the calloused pads that were Bruce's, but he hardly thought about that whilst their straining contest continued. He could still talk. And he would keep talking until his words lost their truth.

"I know how it feels," he squeaked around the slowly closing airway, "I know how it feels to watch everything slip away, everything you've worked for but never quite had."

"You know nothing about me, Nightmare."

"No, I don't."

That revelation made Bruce falter. He was so used to criminals saying they knew him that he wasn't prepared for that, yet he didn't relinquish his grip. Tobias wondered if he even knew he still had it there, what with the recognition slowly building in his eyes and the wavering snarl that sat on his lips.

But Tobias pressed on, "I know nothing about you, but I know a lot about myself. My entire childhood was spent on death and destruction. I had my life planned for me by some centuries old man that couldn't function without his pit, and he expected me to use it too. I watched my mother train me from a guppy to a deadly killer…and then I watched her say nothing when my grandfather cast me aside, like I was nothing but rubbish in the gutter."

Bruce moved to speak though he found himself silenced; not by his son; by his own inner voice telling him to stay quiet. The eyes in front of him glinted with unshed tears and the Adam's apple underneath his clutch moved, his pain as evident as the anger in his voice.

"For years, I wondered why I dared have an opinion. I wondered why my mother had none of her own. I wondered why my grandfather was still around when his dreams were obsolete, basic. Then it dawned on me – I saw my destiny to free them and everyone else around me, yet I couldn't do that. So I settled for killing. I settled for cleaning the streets as best I could and making some money off it. I got sent to Arkham Asylum, and I broke out. I got sent to City, and I ruled my own section with an iron fist. I met villains. I made half-friends that were as broken as me. Then my mother died. Then I disappeared."

They both remembered it. They both felt the pain that came with those memories, but on a level much higher than they had experienced. For the first time in a long time, Tobias felt vulnerable. He felt out of control. One person could have looked at him in the wrong way and he would have leapt at them, daggers drawn before their blood was.

And then Bruce spoke in a calm voice, calm eyes looking down at his son who needed that lifeline, who needed that comfort, "You don't have to run anymore, Toby." Disbelief filled the boy that clutched at the hand, which had fallen to grab the two soft limbs that were so small, so wonderfully small that they could have fit in an average man's grip. "You don't have to run. It's going to be over soon, and you'll never have to run again."

Oh, how Tobias wished he could believe him. How he wished that the burning muscles in his legs weren't itching to be free again, his fingers warm in the hands of a man he could never fully trust. Bruce was influenced by what he thought was right, and his son would have to carry out punishment if he was to stay. That would never be a soft punishment. That would be a punishment in which he would never see the sun again, weakened through iron bars as he lay bored with other prison inmates, none of them on his level.

So he pushed the hands away and crept further along the bed, disappearing between the space between the cabinets and the frame where he often vanished when he was distressed. Bruce watched, disappointed by the discussion they had, determined to make him see sense in a world that truly had none.

"Running's my entire life," he said in that broken voice, "I'll run until I can't run anymore. I'll kill until my targets run out. I'll make friends that aren't my friends, and who'll kill me eventually. That's who I am."

His father sighed heavily, his head falling down as though it were boneless and his eyes blinking back tears. If he was listening closely, he would have heard the voice return.

"I'm sorry for who I am."


	18. One Little Report

Again Tobias stalked through the night, his namesake prevailing him as he clutched the contract in his hands. It was harder to concentrate as he stole glances over his shoulder, concerned that Haywire would see and ambush him, fully aware that his shadowed position was invisible to the naked eye, but he knew that each step he took brought him closer to the target and that was enough to calm him.

A white woman, mid-forties with seven children, each one from a different father that was either dead or imprisoned. She had been hired by some employer that had regretted, and he felt bad about firing a lady with so many children to think about. So to avoid the moral dilemma, he had chosen to kill her. Not that Tobias was complaining about his choice but, when he thought about it, it didn't exactly help his 'moral dilemma.'

The wind was bitter as he stalked through the concrete streets, so familiar and yet so alien. Grime still festered where he placed his hands and the puddles were still icy under his feet, though they seemed louder when he stepped in them, like they were determined to make him lose his position. There sat a single six foot wall that separated him from his target, who seemed to live in a decrepit old house with about as many rooms as his old apartment, each window smashed and covered up by a small bit of cardboard or makeshift driftwood. As the moon cast its silvery light to bring it into focus, he thought momentarily on how life was so cruel.

But he wasn't in the business of philosophy. He had the contract at hand and he knew what to do, so he wouldn't find himself battling his inner demons with such a simple task. Easily he slipped through the broken gate, its hinges rusted and snapped and a large foot-shaped hole where there had once been a panel, the pieces of which were lying in tatters on the other side.

An overgrown garden was the perfect place for him to prowl through, and he did so with joy as he spotted his target in her kitchen window. Brown frayed hair sat in decoration to her withered face, streaked with grey where she showed her true age, matted despite the many attempts to brush it into submission as she sipped on a tall glass of water and sighed. It had been a long day for her. All she wanted to do was lie down in her queen sized bed and rest, though that would have to wait until after she had done the washing.

Tobias stopped. He took a moment to look at her. Each leathery detail she possessed wasn't like his mother's who, for all intents and purposes, was one of the most beautiful women ever to walk the earth, but she reminded him of something. She reminded him of his desperate longing for an average mother. She reminded him of his yearning for an average home-life, one that wouldn't call attention to himself and condemn him to be an outcast. She was a mother, a provider – her children had her and she had them, but Tobias had only had himself.

"Time to get this done," she turned to her mountain of wet clothes that sat on the dirty white floor. Often she had wanted for a butler to do the work, fantasising that someone like Bruce Wayne would one day swoop in and save her from the poor life she led, but fantasises wouldn't help her. They wouldn't keep her children clothed and they wouldn't pay the bills; that was her job, which she took as seriously as the skin she was made out of.

It was then that Tobias chose to strike. With the skill honed by many an assassination, he left the woman lying in a pool of her own blood, unaware that she had just been killed and she would never gaze at her beloved children again. It was a soft death. It was a death that people would hope for, some day when they were lying in the hospital and praying to whatever Gods they possessed.

He took the liberty to glove his hands and finish the washing she had begun, if only because he felt some need to apologise to her band of ruffians. They were hardly children – the pictures on the walls depicted at least three seventeen year olds and two eleven, granted there was a baby and a toddler in the backgrounds. It would be a cold day in Hell that they forgot what he had done.

"What's the answer?" Riddler mumbled to himself as he looked at his advanced riddle book, chewing his pen lid whilst his eyes scanned through the black and white text. They weren't as challenging as he would have liked but, at the same time, they were the perfect thing to send him off to sleep. And in that day and age, who didn't need more sleep?

The television flickered with some news report that he'd only half listened to, reciting some old rubbish about Haywire and his band of motley assassins, each one dead at the hands of Nightmare. How many lies could one man spill? Riddler wasn't sure if he'd told that many in his lifetime, yet there had been far more opportunities for him to do so. Ah, how Tobias would have screamed at the television then, his little voice more furious than a cat dunked head-first in water.

Then it came up with a more recent frame, located outside a decrepit house in some sort of rundown street. Through the one lit window he could see a pool of blood, granted the camera was being particularly shaky and the cameraman was trying not to throw up from the helicopter, his words being, "Holy shit, that kid's…that kid's a psycho!" he smiled, knowing full well that the child was Tobias and he was looking at some of his handiwork.

"We received a distressed 911 call about ten minutes ago," the policeman suddenly on screen was drawling, his face whiter than that of a ghost, "One of the children walked in to find his mother – Miss Ginny Jeans – with her throat slit. We're thinking it's the Hooded Nightmare."

"Any comments?" asked the off-screen reporter, microphone at the ready.

The police's face suddenly went very solemn as he gazed into the camera, his features even whiter when he muttered, "Lock all windows, doors; anything that can be used as an entrance. Make sure you don't annoy anyone. Make sure you've always got people around you. Because, if this is Nightmare, then no one's safe."

"What a downer!" Joker laughed as he threw his head back in glee, so surprised that the infamous Tobias had come back to Gotham but at the same time, unsurprised that he was killing again. "He's acting like Nightmare's not doing a good job!"

Harley smiled maniacally. She had her leg swung casually over the throne she sat on, smaller than her boyfriend's but big enough to seat her thin frame, whilst inside there were shudders running through her. How long until she was on the report? How long until it was her body they'd found?

"He's a great killer sweetie," she purred in reply.

"Say, do we need another one on the team? Might do well considering all the bad luck lately!"

"I don't think he'd want to work with us…on account of our trying to kill him, and all…"

"Nonsense! That's all water under the bridge, Harley girl! You still friends with dear old Eddy?"

"Nigma? Well, we don't talk but, yeah, I guess…"

"Call him!" he threw the receiver at her before she was ready, which was why it slipped through her fingers and hit her square in the face. Joker supressed his smile, barely. "Call him and find out if Nightmare's visited! If he has, good! If he hasn't, why?! I want him to know that I'm personally going to contact our old friend and convince him that was all a misunderstanding!"


	19. Air of a Riddle

"I thought it'd be more difficult than this," Nightmare gingerly admitted as he pulled at his hood, "I didn't think he'd call you up and arrange for us to meet. That's…it's a little odd, don't you think?"

Riddler could only smile at him as he stirred another cup of tea, the one he had made safely clasped in his companion's small hands with the steam rising out of it. Darkness poured in through the window whilst the night dragged slowly on; it had been five days since Harley had contacted him and yet, in some sense of duty or compassion for the young boy, Edward had neglected to inform him until the previous night, hoping that he would rest after his contract before he was confronted with the Joker.

"Quite possibly. She's not spoken to me in…oh, it's been a long while!" he didn't dare tell him that they hadn't spoken since his 'murder,' all those months ago on the stone steps of the mayor's office.

"It's probably just me. With my being back here, they're probably trying to get on top of their murders and tie up loose ends," the cup was placed on the table, the boy's shuddering breath like a stab to Edward's heart, "That's the only reason they used to contact me. I hope she's not expecting me to bow to him or something stupid like that. I'm not as devoted as she is." He said the last part as though he'd smelt something foul, with snarls etching into it without his meaning to.

The window was opened so Nightmare could gasp in some air, wondering why it took so much out of him to think about Harley and her maniacal ways. Perhaps it was just territorial? He'd dedicated a small portion of his life to protecting her, granted he was supposed to be concerned with her unborn child and nothing else. He hadn't wanted to become compromised. It was hard for him to admit he had been, what with her apparent disregard of all he had done for her.

"I told them that you weren't going to be coerced into anything, and that you'd contact them when you're ready."

"You're like my secretary," Tobias replied with a chuckle on his voice. He didn't see the soft smile that Riddler wore and if he had, he probably would have told him he was compromised, that they were nothing more than business associates and the affection he felt was only for his own gain.

But thankfully he didn't see it, and Riddler could go on smiling, "Do you need me to come along to your little meeting?" the child stared out at the darkness that surrounded them, the moon high in the sky as he thought that somewhere, anywhere, Haywire was waiting for him, searching the streets as freely as a Gothamite. That thought scared him.

"No," he eventually sighed, "I'll be taking someone else."

Riddler's face fell, "Who?" he didn't feel territorial but he felt as though he should have been accompanying them, at least until they got to the hideout and he was able to know whether the person was a good match. No one would be as good as the ingenious Edward Nigma, would they? No one would understand Tobias quite as much; know how his mind worked and the subtle nuances of his manner. Not even Nigma had worked out everything. It was a difficult task – Nightmare was a difficult character, what with his constant disappearances and mood changes.

"Batman."

Silence descended over them. For a moment neither moved, Tobias trying to determine what his companion was feeling, Riddler wondering what kind of joke he was playing.

There was a long pause before either of them spoke and even then, it was only to choke out, "W-what?" Nightmare sighed heavily as his head leant out the window, the cold air hitting him before anything else could and clearing some of the cobwebs in his mind.

"I'm taking Batman with me. That should keep Joker from playing any of his games."

"Batman?!" his voice rose to a near super-sonic pitch whilst he rose, as though he were possessed by a devil that had only just crept in, "You're working with that oversized pencil topper?!"

Another sigh, a turn on the heels, "The suit may be made of rubber, but he's definitely worth more than his weight in weaponry. I'm hoping he'll be another to keep Joker in check, or at least keep the 'jokes' to a minimum."

"He'll never work with you. He'll never do it. Batman's a…Batman's as much a criminal as you and I, but he hides it behind his mask and his 'heroism.'"

"He's also my father!" there was more silence as Riddler fell back in his seat. Coldness rang through his green eyes which up until that point had been neutral, though the thought of Nightmare working with such a criminal caused his blood to boil and his hair to stand on end. He wouldn't have the Batman swaying another perfectly good assassin. He wouldn't watch as the child lost himself in the throes of that crooked vigilante's charm.

"That never bothered you before."

"Maybe I never thought about it before."

"Now you're being childish!"

"You're the one having a tantrum over this!" the boy shot back with a darkened look in his eyes, flipping over to the window where he poised himself for a quick exit, "Batman will be attending the meeting. I won't hear anymore arguments about it!" and with that he vanished, out into the blackness of night that he had so often thought on, leaving Riddler alone to stare after him. Why was the boy so thoughtless? Was it the terror?

"He'll see," the green clad villain growled as he sipped on his tea, "He'll see that fathers aren't worth it."


	20. Walk Alone

There was darkness. She could feel that darkness so deeply in her bones, but she didn't know what to do about it. With uncertainty she stepped forward, reaching out into the never ending nothingness in front of her, wondering whether or not she would just wake up and that would all be a vicious nightmare.

Ah, Nightmare. A smile fell upon her lips when she thought about the boy she once knew, his perfect face looming in all the darkness surrounding her and fighting it back, those glinting blades in his hands as his green eyes fell to her face. It was a good sight. It was a sight that often made people run, he'd once told her, in that tiny voice that she just wanted to cradle and fix with every maternal skill left in her. Life was unduly cruel.

And then she saw him fade again, but taking with him the nothingness. It became a wonderful scene of concrete and smog-filled brick, the grime under her hands memorable as she scrambled in a pre-determined beeline. Something was telling her to go that way – something was telling her so urgently that she could almost hear the voice, granted it was like a stinging scream in her head. Streets. That's where she was. She was in a street she didn't recognise and hadn't walked before, but she knew exactly where she was going.

She saw him. Oh, she saw him sitting there by himself, all alone in a world that didn't want him. She watched as he leaned back on the narrow strip of concrete, his head flown back in what seemed like a silent scream, his mouth shut tight and his eyes squeezed so he didn't have to look at the towering chimneys around him. The world was so monotonous now. It was so painful without someone like him, and she knew that.

But when she approached him, there was no reaction. Light died in his eyes whilst he continued looking about, white smoke in placement of breath billowing from his nose, silence where there had once been laughter.

She took a place beside him. It seemed the logical thing to do. When there was no way they could hold hands, she would suffice to sit beside him and be the thing he needed, be the person he'd trained her to. It would have made him proud. And that was all she wanted; to make him smile, to make him happy, to be with _him._

"God," the sob escaped him and startled her, snapping her neck to look as his head fell in his hands, "Are you there? Can you hear me? Would you ever look at me?" that innocence made itself known, that boyish charm that he hadn't quite shed and the need to feel important. It was rare that it came out; he knew that he wasn't in the grand scheme of things but, at the same time, he longed to feel like someone was watching him, someone was waiting for him to join them and make their life complete. Instantly she wanted to brush her cheek, though the fact she couldn't didn't displease her. He never liked being touched much.

"Is there a reason you're doing this?! Have I…have I done wrong? You gave me the ability to kill; this is the only honest way! I'd rather kill the problem here than be a pawn in the army where we only fight for power! We don't fight to make things better!"

Another sob escaped him, strangled and heart-broken, confused and destroyed. There wasn't comfort in the fact that the world slept so soundly beneath him. There was only that aching loneliness as he remembered his arch nemesis, somewhere in the darkness with his mad revenge plot and cold, lifeless eyes.

Softly, the wind around her changed. It began to blow where she no longer looked, willed by a force that she could feel behind her and knew was watching her soft interactions, that heartache she felt for the boy she couldn't hold. She looked up to be confronted with another woman, one with shoulder length brown hair and pouting lips, her beauty undeniable as the moonlight went slightly through her. Darkness was no problem as she seemed to just will it away, as though it were a faint annoyance and she was the bride of God. It wouldn't surprise her if this woman was; she looked like an angel in every way, albeit a curvaceous one.

"There's nothing more you can do," said a loosely accented voice as she outstretched her gloved hand, "The Spirits control his fate."

"And who are you to tell me what to do? Back off, lady." That fire was ignited within her, so similar to the boy that she sat next to it was a wonder they weren't siblings, torn apart through some sort of tragic event and only adding to the misery that was their lives.

The mocha-skinned woman only smiled in reply, "You are a very spirited young soul. You must come with me, and we can watch him together."

"I don't want to leave him," her arms would go around him if they didn't feel so heavy. Her eyes were as defensive as her words. "I won't leave him. I can't."

"But you must if he is ever going to walk with you again."

"I'm not going anywhere. He needs me right now; look at him! He needs me to be here for him…" she turned to face the sobbing boy beside them, seemingly unaware of the conversation between the two women beside him, unaware that they were even there. A soft hand met her shoulder as the older woman crouched down, lips still pouted and eyes still warm.

"We must go, dear one. We must go and leave him. It will not be forever that we're apart; only for a time, and then he shall be reunited with us. These tears will not keep falling." She then looked at the little boy beside them and realised, deep down in her soul, that she couldn't stand leaving him either. For the first time since she had seen him, he looked small. He looked broken.

The girl turned to stroke his cheek, her hand passing through it, "Will Toby be okay without us?"

"In time, he will be."

"Who are you anyway?" she asked as she was pulled to her feet, unprepared to walk away from her friend when it seemed so obvious the road ahead was hard.

"I am Talia, dear one."

"He…he told me about you. You're his…"

"I am his mother," she interrupted with a sad sort of smile, "I was his mother…and I abused my position. We must go, dear one – there are things we must do to prepare for him."

"Don't you want to know my name?"

And Talia just smiled as she brushed the younger woman's chestnut hair back, revealing those deep brown eyes that were so familiar to her son.

"I know much, Hannah."


	21. Notes and Plans

The steel mill was no longer Joker's hideout, long ago abandoned and left to rot without care. Batman had been sure to scope out any dangerous weapons but for the most part there were none; instead he found dirty secrets that his nemesis had locked away, each one more gruesome than the last. It made him tremble to step back inside.

But he would do almost anything for Tobias.

"That's where I last remember it," the child pondered when he reached a shadowed corner, one of his favourite spots to sit in some years before, "I left the note there. This place seems pretty untouched since I was last here, so there's really no reason it should be gone."

"It could've blown away?" Batman offered in his usual calm voice, collected despite the chills running up his spine, calm no matter the secrets playing in his head.

"Impossible; there aren't any drafts. This place is sealed up tighter than the mayor's mouth," a smirk fell upon his face before he shifted one of the huge crates, left behind after Joker's onslaught and his girlfriend's maddened residence. The disturbed dust circulated in the air as he searched in the splintered wood, no longer housing nuzzled families of machine guns or the sharpened tips of Nightmare's blades, but filled instead with Styrofoam and tissue.

They spent hours looking for the note. Batman didn't quite understand why it was so important. His son had remembered it on a whim some nights before, a little while after he had returned from one of his mysterious meetings, and had insisted that they go straight to the abandoned steel mill in search of it. There were no arguments from Bruce but still, it was a little strange. Tobias never kept anything of sentimental value, not unless it had come from his mother or Hannah, and those things were few and far between. His urgency was the only explanation his father would receive.

"Found it!" he turned, triumphantly brandishing the crinkled piece of paper in his slightly reddened hands, flashing a grin that was almost genuine as his spirits lifted, "I thought someone took it!"

Bruce felt a certain joy at watching his face light up, the cold of winter chased away for the brief moment he smiled. All the white smoke breath and frozen ears seemed to vanish as he stood there, his eyes fixated on the little boy with the note in his hand, his heavy heart burning with a love that almost scared him. He shouldn't have loved a killer. But, he couldn't help it.

"What's so important about it?"

"It outlines some of the Joker's weaknesses – he might've sliced my neck open, but I know all the places to hit if we're in a fair fight," that smile wavered as he felt along his scar, the delicate skin like a jagged rock carving whilst his fingers traced the outline, "Not that Joker would ever fight fairly."

Batman's scepticism took over before he could stop it, words spilling from his mouth moments after Nightmare's smile had vanished, "It's been a while since you last saw Joker, Toby. He could've fixed all of those problems by now." He was met by a darkened glare, a silent warning that he should have stopped talking and the boy knew what he was doing…at least, he knew to an extent.

A lot of his work was blind. He never knew what situation he was going to end up in; that was half the fun of being an assassin. Though most of his contracts were tame, targeting people that lived in picket-fence houses or derelict cul-de-sacs, he got the odd ones where the thrill came from the chase, the requests forcing him to use every ounce of stealth he possessed. With a smile he remembered that priest contract, two years ago in the famed streets of Gotham…

"It'll be okay. Joker's not exactly one to change, is he? We've seen his costumes, his techniques, his sense of humour; I'm thinking that's enough to get me through a fight with him, if that fight's not got surprise attacks in it."

"That's one of his techniques," Bruce groaned but didn't pursue the subject, because he knew what a tender topic fighting was. His son had seen many an attack in his time, often on the end that carried it out, though that didn't mean he was particularly fond of it. Indeed the boy dreamed of a time in which he would see an end to his compulsion, a time where he would drop his blades and never feel the urge to pick them up again, but he knew that day was far off, if it was coming at all. It was his calling to kill, and it would always be his calling.

Their silence continued when they left the steel mill. It was prevalent throughout the car journey home – what Bruce called home and Tobias called a safe-house – before the boy vanished up to his room, intent on making preparations for the coming talks. Bruce would be furious if he knew that Joker had contacted him rather than the other way around, and he knew that he would have to work through that situation.

The problems a child assassin faced!

Riddler, who was busying himself with his own heists at that time, infuriatedly thought about the boy and his winged father, each one off to meet the Joker as though they had been lifelong friends. He had considered crashing the party just to make a point, but he didn't feel like losing teeth in retribution. There was that want to be there for Tobias every step of the way, to be included in what would likely be the greatest battle Gotham had ever seen, granted if he knew the boy's style it would be a mostly underground fight. Nightmare wouldn't call attention to his personal problems. It was one of those frustratingly admirable things about him.

"Riddle me this," he muttered under his breath as he continued drawing bank plans, "I am a horse that will not run; and in the dark I won't be fun; I cause a stir, perhaps a scream; to have me you will not be keen; you'd like to keep me on a tether; but you won't escape my appearance forever. What am I?"

When silence broke from his non-existent audience, he chuckled darkly and said, "I'm a Nightmare."


	22. Problems

Jealousy. Riddler was jealous, but he wouldn't admit it. Every time Tobias came for one of his routine visits, preparing the plans that sat atop Edward's coffee table and changing some of the more adventurous sides of them, he had to resist the urge to tell him he would be going to Joker too, that he was the better choice when it came to the Clown Prince of Crime. It was difficult to watch the child vanish off every night, out in the darkness where he would likely meet his end.

There was a dull ache in his heart when Nightmare returned one night. The boy's left eye was blackened after a particularly nasty tussle with an unexpected guard dog, a bite mark stretching across his cheek where it'd managed to sink its teeth in, but he shooed away any concerned caresses and coos.

"Happens," was all he would say as he perched on one of the chairs, the wood screeching in protest, "Where are the plans?" the sketches weren't on the stained glass of his coffee table, the place they were normally left so Nightmare wouldn't have to fumble around in search of them.

Riddler managed to gulp back his inhibitions as he pulled the window shut, remembering that he'd hidden the blueprints so they could actually talk. It was unlike him to want to talk; he was the great Edward Nigma, who expected people to fall at his feet and worship the very ground he walked on, taking his word as Gospel to enlighten their weakened minds, but they were in a very strange situation. For once in his life, the green clad villain wanted to talk rather than fight, and learn what was going on in the complicated folds that made up Nightmare's mind.

"We need to discuss some of your plans," he croaked when he took the armchair, thin body like a twig in the hideous floral thing, in which the green patterns were fading faster than Tobias's humanity and the truth behind his words.

"You don't agree with them?" two green eyes became clouded with an unreadable expression, pulling Riddler further into his fear whilst he took a shaky breath. Behind Tobias shone the moonlight that touched his hood, its fabric sides highlighted by the silvery glow and giving him an almost angelic visage, though Nightmare was far from angelic.

"They're excellent," he assured him with two hands gripped on his armrests, "They're some of the best plans I've looked at, and you continue to improve them."

"Then…give them back?"

"I've only got one problem with all your ideas."

"Oh?" perfect madness crept through his eyes. It was the madness that kept the world spinning – the madness that, without it, would see the world spiralling in the deepest pits of despair, lacking all creative energy that kept the populace alert. That lunacy was behind a thousand different paintings, a million buildings and even the structure of their society, what with the randomness of events and how people seemed to deal with it. No one could survive without it. But to have it so close to him, so close to his face with two daggers in their sheaths, caused shivers to creep up Edward's spine.

"Batman."

That earned him an audible groan from the boy as his head fell into his hands, forehead connecting with the open palms whilst the groan continued. The hood he wore fell even further over his hair and Riddler wanted to brush it back, as though he were telling the child he hadn't got in his favourite school and he needed to comfort him, be the adult. If only their situation was as simple.

"I've told you," he began in a growl, the dim light around them doing nothing to make him more visible, "Batman is an essential part in my plans. He's like my puppet; whatever demands I make, he obeys. For now, I'll use him to my advantage and cut him loose when I don't need him."

Riddler allowed a weak smile to come across his face, "And what makes you think he won't haul you straight off to jail, hm?" darkened stares rose to him when Tobias lifted his head, all the more terrifying for the supressed rage within it.

"He's my puppet."

"Until your mission is completed, and then you're a liability. Another criminal, just like me. Just like all of us."

"He won't send me to jail. I can't say much for the rest of you, but he'll let me go."

"Because Batman's known to be so forgiving to serial killers."

"He's my father, Nigma," the little voice returned; not the little voice that made him vulnerable but, instead, the little voice that he wore before he went on a homicidal rage. Whilst Riddler was certain he wouldn't be on the list of deaths, he feared for the exposed column of his neck, the gentle beat of his heart that Tobias was sharp-eyed enough to notice.

"And your father imprisons our kind."

Silence. Sweet, anxious silence filled the air, making all those inhibitions Riddler thought about rush to the front of his mind. Hot anger was ever present when Tobias steadied himself, and spoke slowly enough to match with every beat of his companions' heart.

"My kind is rare; I'm the only one left," he muttered slowly, "Every day, there's less of me. We'll see if Batman hauls me off to prison. We'll see if he knocks all my allies' teeth out before carting them off to the nearest psych ward." Tobias was suddenly at the window, throwing it open like all he wanted to do was run out in the city, losing himself in the foul stink that was Gotham.

"You can't keep denying it, Nightmare!" Riddler shouted before he could disappear, "Sooner or later, Batman's going to betray you!"

Tobias could only throw a look of pure fury behind him, his hands clenched over the window sill that he used to propel himself forward, "At least he knows my real name."


	23. The Blade Dealt

"Catch me if you can," Tobias said mischievously to his father, rushing through the broken streets around them that were surprisingly empty. Bruce, who could hardly breathe in the new Batman upgrades, chased after the boy he had spent so long thinking about, desperate to keep up with the nimble-limbed lad as he darted through the concrete world.

"Hardly making this easy for me!" he mentioned once they dived through another impossibly small hole, Nightmare shaking it off as easily as he would a walk in a park before he was off again.

"What fun would that be?" the reply came once they had made their way down an alley, grime slicked and wet with the rainy weather. It rained a lot now that Tobias had returned, but whether that was a coincidence or sign Bruce didn't know. He didn't think about it either. All that mattered was that his son was with him for the moment, and he wouldn't be leaving until he had satisfactory retribution.

Silence rose between them. It wasn't complete silence of course, what with their heavy breathes and grunts with every assassin-appropriate route they took, Tobias's skills becoming ever more evident as he scaled buildings and slipped through barely opened windows, only to open them wider for his muscular father's use. The man watched whilst his son manipulated his body in ways that should've been impossible, only to defy all physical odds to make his way through abandoned buildings.

"Why are we going to Joker? He could ambush us!" Bruce finally said when they had slowed somewhat, mostly for his own gain, since he couldn't see past the stinging tears and bullet-like raindrops.

"It's most likely an ambush," the boy admitted as he impatiently walked, "That's why we're going. We go to Joker, kill his back up, and he helps us."

A look of pure disapproval was shot towards the child, "I'm not killing anyone."

"Your funeral."

The complete casualness of Nightmare's voice was almost laughable. It was almost as if every hair on his neck wasn't standing up and his spine wasn't stiffer than that of Scarface's, like he didn't think he would die within the next few moments. If Haywire didn't kill him, it would be Joker. If it wasn't Joker, it would be someone else. And if no human was responsible for his death, it would be time, following him every step of the way without any hints of disappearing. Oh how he wished life was simpler.

Then again, that would make it boring, and how he detested being bored. It led to unfortunate accidents…

Finally, they rounded the final corner of the final alleyway and came upon their destination. The sight of the derelict warehouse sent shivers up Tobias's spine as he turned, facing his father with a fierce determination in his eyes, hands clenched into fists at his sides like he just wanted to murder someone.

"We fight," he muttered quietly, "We fight until they're dead or bleeding. Be warned; if you leave any alive, I'll kill them myself." That was all the young child said before he flipped over the flimsy wooden fence, his smile wicked and his hands gripping those familiar, silver blades.

"Damn it, Toby," Batman muttered under his breath, following him as best he could with the heavy weight of his gadgets.

As they had expected, it was an ambush. Dozens of thugs made themselves known from every corner of the dumpsters, their ugly faces like a horrible disease in the otherwise fresh-smelling, rain drenched rubbish tip. Tobias made quick work of whatever ones came near him, with throat slashes and a few well-timed attacks that would likely send the craziest man insane. Batman on the other hand…well, it was certainly disappointing his son.

"Bravo!" they heard a hauntingly familiar voice as the boy swished out his last blade attack, his legs bent at the knee as he did a matrix-style avoidance technique, his face the picture of fury as he looked up at white makeup and green hair.

His words came out breathlessly, almost inaudible, "I should've known you'd pull something like this, clown." There he was – Joker, standing on one of those platforms that all bosses stood on, his hands outstretched as the makeup threatened to run down his face. For a moment Nightmare was lost, his thoughts on the rain being replaced by blood and the tear-streaked face of Harley Quinn as Joker once again died. It made him smile.

But life went on.

"You hurt me with your words! I thought you'd have some fun with my boys here! And look; you brought an appetiser!" another clap of the hands as he smiled a sadistic smile. How good would he look with that smile immortalised? Carved from the greyness of his dead skin, perfected through years of agonising care?

Even more strained was his reply, "Batman won't be hurt by your forces. I'll kill them before they can. Now are we going to discuss why you called me here, or are you just going to stand up there trying to get us?"

A smile. A genuine, seedy smile. One that made Tobias want to die and kill someone.

"Aren't you the pushy one?"


	24. Figure it Out

Riddler had taken it upon himself to discover Nightmare's name. After being confronted with the idea that Batman knew more, that the oversized doorstop knew something that Edward hadn't yet figured out, it drove him to the furthest edge of insanity.

For hours, he trawled through the information he had. What that was remained very little, seeing as Tobias was skilled in creeping through the databases undetected, making himself small in a world that was looking for him. His laptop screen flickered pathetically in the black living room, as though a constant taunt on how he couldn't work it out.

Beside him rested a notepad, filled with possible names that Riddler had deduced. He knew that it wouldn't have been anything too foreign despite his mother's lovely accent, and it had to be something that would blend perfectly into the background should he find himself in trouble. Not that he wouldn't go the dishonest route and give a fake name, but still. It was the most logical thing Edward could come up with.

Eventually, he had narrowed it down to eight possibilities; Vincent, Oscar, Tobias, Louis, Jonathan, Jack, Richard or Benjamin. All of them sounded bland and tasteless. All of them fell as vile to the green villain as he scoured through them, but name choice wasn't what he was looking for. He was trying to discover something. For once in his life, Nightmare was a subject. Nightmare was a subject and he wasn't a person, as he was slowly proving himself to be.

"_Catch me if you can!"_ he could almost hear the child's voice when he came across yet another wanted poster. It was one of those obscure ones, with his face covered by the hood and his silhouette barely visible in the waning moonlight, though that didn't stop people from rejoicing. Finally, the government doing something about a killer!

Only, they weren't doing anything. They were floundering helplessly as a twelve year old outwitted them, barely able to understand his motives let alone the way to catch him. How many people had died by his hands? How many people would die? Those questions were always on citizen's lips yet, when it came down to asking them, all they could do was praise. How tedious.

"_You'll never find out, Edward,"_ he looked up to see a spectre-like Nightmare in front of him, propping his head up with his hand as he leaned back in the spare armchair. Instantly he knew it was a figment of his imagination, because the child never sat in that chair. He preferred to be on the rickety wooden ones that Riddler had bought on a whim, where he would be able to flip easily away and disappear through the window.

That didn't stop him from answering it though, "I will. Mark my words, Nightmare – I'll find out who you are!" the spectre laughed before crouching, his hands placed firmly on the chair's backboard as his knees bent forward like he would spring, like he would kill Edward for no reason. That was exactly like him.

"_Poor ole Eddy; you'll never figure out who I am. Don't you see what I'm doing to you?"_

"You're doing nothing to me. I'm keeping you on a leash. I'm the one with the plans, aren't I?"

"_And you think I haven't memorised them? Honestly, you're more clueless than I thought. What's my affiliation with the Batman? Riddle me that."_

That smirk. That evil smirk that Riddler admired was present on the spectre's face, no more transparent than it was soul searing, and he took a moment to think of his reply. What was it doing to him? Normally he was quicker; normally he was able to cut men down with just a tongue lashing, but not with Nightmare. Nightmare was special.

"You're his son," he eventually replied after what seemed like an age. The spectre gave that smirk again as he gingerly stepped from the chair, as though he were plotting a series of well-aimed attacks to his companion's throat.

"_Don't you think I have some loyalty to my one remaining parent?"_

"You've loyalty to no one, Nightmare. You're a lawless assassin – your loyalty lies with your contracts, so don't you try and confuse me! It's pointless!" ah yes, the superior intellect would make one of its predicted appearances. If it were truly Nightmare that stood there, he would have casually mentioned how easy it was to calculate what Edward would do, how he knew that the villain would leap for his weapon that was concealed in a 'biscuit tin' a little to the side of them.

But the spectre only smiled again as he wandered through the darkened living room, "_Yet, you believe I'll be loyal to you. After all, look what I did for Harley! I came back for her despite everything, all because of a little promise I made. Then what did she do, Edward? What did she do to me?"_

He gulped back the lump in his throat so he could speak, "Joker tried to kill you. She…helped him try to kill you." Spectral Nightmare sat on the arm of Riddler's chair, his fictitious breath ghosting over the soft skin.

"_And you don't think that made me stop being loyal?"_ there was silence as Edward pondered the situation. It was a long silence. After a while the spectre became bored, so much so that he started chanting a tune and eventually spoke again, "_You're kidding yourself if you think I'm trustworthy. My only alliance is to my contracts, and you know that. You're too smart not to know that. So why do you keep trying to help me?"_

Why indeed? Did Edward really have the strength to admit it? He looked at the white visage of the boy he had been working with, the imitation that his mind had made up to show him the bigger picture. Could he admit it to himself? Wasn't it dangerous to let the mind have too much power? He took a deep breath before he adjusted his laptop screen, determined to be strong.

"Because I don't want you to die," the admission was quiet, honest, "I don't want you to die, and I don't want you to go. I want to be there during your greatest escapade. I want to be there when you get your hands on Haywire and wring his neck. I want to be there like Batman wasn't, like your mother wasn't. We're two of the same, one of a kind. It's only natural."

And at this, the boy just shook his head. He shook it because he just didn't know what else to do. With ease the image began to stroke the ruffled edges of Riddler's hair, as though he were a comforting mother hen rather than the deadly bladed child.

"_You're a fool, Riddler."_

"You need a hand. You need someone that can defend you when you're hurt, and I'm the perfect person for that."

"_You're a fool. And you'll always be a fool." _That smirk returned, "_But, you know who I am. You know my name. Think. Who am I, Edward?" _he looked down and tapped at the notepad, at the name Riddler always thought.

And he smiled as he said, "I'm not a fool, Tobias."


	25. Laughing as the Blood Falls

Tobias stalked through the darkened corridor, his face smeared with blood and his hands running with crimson rivulets, each one only soaking the glinting steel of his blade. Thugs lay dead around them whilst all Bruce could do was stare in horror, wondering how his own son could be capable of such crimes.

"When I get hold of this maniac, I swear I'm going to rip him limb from limb-"

"There's been enough death tonight," the strong voice of Batman came when Bruce was too timid to speak, when he couldn't believe the nightmare that stood in front and around him. Blood…so much blood…

"There's always room for more," cold silver brushed against his forehead as he brought his blade up, as though caressing himself with the steel, "Someone brought them into this world screaming and covered in blood; seems only right they go out the same way." That wild grin on his face was enough to turn men to stone. Indeed, it was close to making Bruce freeze exactly where he stood, still surrounded by the remnants of men, the tattered remains of what Joker liked to call his 'operation.'

They travelled on without speaking to each other. Hallway after hallway they went through, thug after thug they cut down until all that lay behind them was a dark trail of death, slicked with blade marks and the occasional swell of congealed blood that still oozed from them. It made Tobias smile. It made Batman angry.

Angry enough to grab his own son's arm and thrust him against the wall.

Nightmare looked with confused green eyes for a moment. His hood hadn't fallen from him but Batman could almost see right through it, into those darkened irises that were so similar to his mothers, into the abyss that was both a fractured childhood and a broken boy. He could see Tobias. But then the confusion vanished and was replaced by contempt, ridding the man holding his son's throat of all he hoped that boy could be.

"Are you going to kill me?" he asked almost conversationally. It was all Bruce could do not to squeeze tighter in offense, angry that someone would even suggest he could kill someone else.

"No."

"Really?" the eyes became even more sneering, "Because when a man's got his hand round someone's throat, that's sort of what they assume. Now if you're not going to kill me…" he looked down at the hand clasping his scar, which hurt only slightly. Even the burn of the memory hurt more than Bruce did though, in his supressed fury, it was becoming an uncomfortable problem to have him so near to his one weakness, his one memorable wound.

Slowly, almost as though he didn't realise how tightly he was squeezing, Bruce pulled his fingers away from the thin neck of his son. Tobias gasped as the air filled his lungs and staggered from the wall, which itself was covered in grime that was surely up the boy's hooded cloak.

"You're not killing anyone else," he concluded whilst the child tried to find air, "It's not worth all this death."

"I'm not even at Joker's throat yet!" it came out as though he were a son being rebuked for playing too many games, ignoring the more crucial elements of his work so he could waste his life staring at a TV screen. But Tobias wasn't a child. Tobias was an assassin, and a damn good one at that.

"He won't die by your hand tonight. If he does, we've lost someone that you want to work for you," Bruce found his reasoning behind the heroic exterior, some of the businessman in him coming to light in the most uncomfortable of ways.

And by the way Tobias looked at him, with the light quickly dulling in his eyes and resigning itself to his words, he knew he'd struck a nerve. He knew in some ways he had won, and in others he had lost. The child would be furious with him for a time. In his own way of course, because he'd never openly tell people what he was thinking and feeling, not since Crane had got his claws in him and Hannah had left for the sweet land of sleep.

His voice was quiet when he spoke, guarded, "Fine. We don't kill Joker. But if he kills us instead, don't come bothering me in the afterlife." And with that he continued down the hallway, the only grunts coming when he wrapped a hand around his throat and massaged the painful bruise. Bruce's grip was tight. It was always tight, which was why many criminals ended up with broken bones. That thought made the boy smile through his discomfort, giving him the strength to move forward no matter the burn on his scar.

"Bravo! Bravo!" they entered a derelict clearing to the sound of the clown's voice, not unlike the clearing that he'd sported in the steel mill and held his many twisted gatherings. The one Tobias and his father stood in that time, however, had no men, no minions that the boy hadn't come into contact with and eliminated, their pathetic lives cut short by the silver bite of his blade. It was like watching a graceful ballerina diving between the arms of her partner, just before she brought out a glinting knife to make that partner crimson with his passion.

Joker stood atop a giant crystalline sculpture of himself, perhaps commissioned by that fanatical harpy that perched on the other side. The transparent suit shoulders were the perfect places for them to stand, as though they would address the world rather than a group of insane, helpless individuals; individuals that Tobias had easily displaced.

"Look who it is, sweetie!" Harley had that crazy look in her eye that the boy had once admired, granted it was directed at her less-than-interesting lover, "The Bat and the Boy!"

"The harlot and the dead man," his retort was swift as he pivoted on his heels, which sprang out the two knives that concealed themselves in the back and allowed him to flip, slashing the man's neck who had tried to catch him off guard. Harley watched, impressed at the horrified expression on Batman's face, mesmerised by the complete casualness that Tobias regained his composure. "Sneak attacks? You'll have to do better than that."

Joker clapped his hands in a sickening glee, "Wow! And I thought they were lying about you, kiddo!"

"You've seen my work before," he remarked again, still casual despite their history, arms crossed over his chest as he fixed him with an unimpressed gaze, "You've hired me before."

"I know; it's all a bit strange, isn't it?" that grin returned, "So kiddo, you're here! With the Bat, too! This must be a happy family reunion – oh goodie, will we be having one of those awkward 'trust-issue-trust' situations?"

"Cut the crap, clown!" he waved his hand for silence which surprisingly was acknowledged. Joker dropped to a sitting position as he gripped a large piece of his sculpture's hair, his hand visible on the other side and his smile expectant. "Why did you contact me?"

Another clap of his hands, "Because I think we ended on a bit of a sour note last time we saw each other – one, two years ago? – and I wanted to let you know, I completely forgive you."

Bruce wanted to scream. He wanted to grab both criminals and force them down into the deepest cesspits the GCPD had available, leaving them to rot there for the rest of their lives. His rage mounted as he heard the soft patter of footsteps above, something that he was sure Tobias had become aware of, and felt the piercing eyes of a dozen snipers weigh down on them.

"You tried to kill me," the child noted calmly.

"You must admit, I've got a wonderful sense of irony."

"My own blade. Imaginative."

"But what'd 'ya say, kiddo? You can work with me and Harley here; it'll be a regular team!" that grin cracked the white makeup that slathered his features, scars hidden but somehow still visible.

The quiet faceoff between them was tense. Snipers had beams trained for Tobias's head in case he made a movement, which he was acutely aware of. Behind him, Bruce's breathing was calm and collected. That distracted him somewhat, but not too much. All he was really concentrating on was the criminal in front of him; the crazy, homicidal creature that had once tried to claim his life, cut his throat with his own knife and made him taste the sweet kiss of the spirits.

"Firstly, you have to do something for me."

"I don't think you're in the position to negotiate," Harley pointed out with fingers stretched to the snipers, "They'll kill you."

"Not before I kill them. I've known they were there since they stepped to the windows," broken, shattered windows were the perches of choice, "I've also been aware that your boyfriend has gun in his bowtie; new addition pistol, modified to be especially small. You've got blades hidden in your skirt. Batman," he turned to his father, "has a Batarang trained at my head. In this room right now, I'm the single most targeted person. And you know I'll get out if one of you threatens me."

A strange frown spread on Joker's face. He stared, unable to speak as he mulled over what the child was saying and thought, no matter what he threw, Tobias would be able to get out of it.

"What do you want?" he asked in that dark, menacing voice, the complete opposite of his jokey alter ego.

"I want you to help me kill someone."


	26. The Rain will Wash the Stains of Time

They chose not to go home together. Nightmare took one route to another side of town whilst Batman took the other, horrified by the sheer brutality that his son seemed to use and the complete disregard for human life, as if they were nothing but nuisances in his eyes.

Obviously, Bruce went back to his manor. There he made himself a slice of toast, and then another, hopeful that the buttery taste would wash away his thoughts. Soon after that, the billionaire pulled himself into bed to fall into a fitful sleep, where he was confronted by mangled images of Talia and his son as the world around him crumbled, falling in thrall to their own twisted desires.

And Nightmare? He vanished to the only place he could think of – Edward Nigma's apartment, arriving just in time to avoid the heavy rainfall that barely skimmed the sole of his feet, barely touched the edge of his cloak when he glided seamlessly through the window and landed in the living room.

Silence welcomed him. He welcomed it, but that time it was different. Like a frantic child he began searching for Edward, fearful that he might have thought better and run off with the plans himself, before they finally fell on the villain sitting in his chair. Hidden by shadow, but there. Nigma was there.

He was always there.

"Cat got your tongue?" the boy's amusement did nothing to hide the concern in his eyes, visible even through the cloak that covered them. For a moment, it was a wonder that Edward didn't simply leap at him and start screaming that he'd figured it out, that Nightmare's precious secret was all his to know. Instead he was contented to wait, to watch the child's face become first frustrated and then furious with the silence.

It was then that he felt it best to answer, "I wouldn't know about that, Tobias." His body reacted immediately; the tensed shoulders became even tenser and his breathing hitched, arching his back as though he were facing an enemy rather than a friend. Riddler's heart almost bled as he looked upon that young boy in front of him, so full of promise and potential, yet cowering away from the one person that could help him. He didn't know why he wanted to help. Sometimes, he accepted that he never would.

"How did you find out…?"

That was something he hadn't been expecting. That voice was new. It wasn't even and calm, and it wasn't furious. It wasn't that small thing that he wore whenever he was too upset to speak; it actually contained _fear. _The same fear that he'd been faced with all through Crane's merciless experiments, with the madman's fear gas coursing through him and making the deepest, darkest realities come alive in front of them.

And that fear made his bleeding heart break, "Intelligence."

"Intelligence…" the light died from Tobias's eyes as he sat down on the armchair, his mind reeling and his thoughts far away. Why did the Riddler have to find out his name? Why couldn't it have been some other person, some other sweet child by the name of Hannah that he could form a new league with? Edward wouldn't provide the future he was looking for.

So there was more silence for a while. Riddler watched the boy come apart in front of him, that usually calm little child come apart in a slow and almost undetectable way. If he hadn't been watching the fingers scrape along the chair's arm rests and the anxious biting of the lip, he might have said Tobias was coping very well. It was a matter of moments before he looked up with a new type of sadness, tears threatening in those green beacons.

"You know my name. I should kill you."

"Is that really necessary?" he inquired with a twirl of his cane, "You know my name."

"You've been in prison more times than I've had hot dinners. That number may be small in itself, but it's still saying something,"

"I only have your first name," Edward's improvisation proved his desperation, which was understandable. No one had ever known Tobias's name without him first telling them and, as the child felt that one source of control slowly slipping through his fingers, he probably felt that retribution was in order.

That sadness came back stronger, "I…only have a first name…" he had long before abandoned the 'Al Ghul' that once plagued him, because he knew it would only remind him of all those wonderful memories he didn't have, the days he didn't spend with his mother and the harsh training at his grandfather's hands.

Riddler couldn't help it. Without thinking he sprung up from his chair, bounding over to the child before squeezing in beside him, and he was surprised to find that Nightmare didn't flinch away. He didn't even protest when the skinny arms encircled him in the way a father's would, gentle and warm and…safe?

No, not safe. They were in it for themselves. Tobias told himself that over and over again, begging his mind to believe what he had once lied to himself with.

"You're not supposed to figure it out," he murmured pathetically, aimlessly as he pressed himself into the thin chest, fingers lacing in his suddenly revealed hair whilst the hood fell to his back. Riddler dared to rest his chin on those inviting curls, so wild in his hands yet so soft.

"It's okay, Tobias."

"It's not okay. I'm…I'm the Nightmare. I'm not Tobias. I'm not Toby. That's someone else – that's what I could've been!" his voice rose in pitch but he still didn't pull away, "Why can't you just forget?"

A smirk and a huffed laugh, "I never forget. And I think it's harder to forget about your name. Never fret; all will be right when the rain stops."

Tobias noticed the sudden tension in his companion's body. What he didn't know was that it was a line his mother used to say, long ago when the genius was a boy and his father went off in one of his trademark rages, his beautiful caregiver the only thing to keep him safe from the calloused hands of hatred. If it were a different time, he would've taken advantage. Perhaps he would have sneered. But the rain continued to fall against the glass and turn the mood solemn, so he just nuzzled deeply into the man's side.

"Do you promise?"

"I've trusted it so far."


	27. Chase the Memory

Hannah twisted her body away from the unsheathed blades, expertly landing on the other side of their training room with that cocky grin on her face. Chestnut hair brushed into brown eyes, she was the image of a wild thing as Tobias leapt forward, ready to slice that smirk away.

"You're fast," he commented when she flipped over his head, "But fast will only get you so far. You need to know how to fight." With that he flipped again, though he had anticipated where she would go. People were predictable, all the things they couldn't be if they were going to make it as a successful assassin, and he was determined to make the precocious young Hannah one of those legendary killers. He wouldn't fail in his mission. There was so much potential in her that, realistically, failure was impossible.

So it was with ease that he pinned her to the fading wall of the small studio, a blade thrust up to her throbbing neck as a smile stretched on his lips. It wasn't a gloating smile, but it was close enough to make Hannah realise there was a sense of pride within that child, that boy that had saved her from hopelessness and given her a reason for life.

"How'd you know what I'd do?" the scarlet cloak she wore was pulled up to her eyes in the same fashion as her companion's, determined to show him she would strive to be a good assassin.

"Simple. You've been going mostly to the left for a while; if you watch all of your movements and make a diagram in your head, it's pretty easy to know when you were eventually going to move right," blades sheathed and smile gone, his tone had suddenly turned all business, "You can't do that on the job. That's how people die."

Tobias knew he was dreaming. He knew because he had had that conversation before, seen that black studio with the fuzzy carpet and looked at that girl, her eyes so full of awe that she looked like a trembling fan who had just met her favourite celebrity. He knew because he vaguely recalled falling asleep to the gentle lull of Riddler's heartbeat some moments beforehand, granted he wasn't going to come to that thought until he knew he could handle it.

So he focused all his energy into thinking that time hadn't passed and Hannah, despite being long dead, was really there for him. It made things so much easier.

"What should I do, then?" her question was filled with that sense of desperation. She had so wanted to become a good assassin that she had even abandoned her previous life, filled with people who didn't have hopes and dreams and were simply trying to survive another day, yet none of that mattered after she had met Nightmare. He was different. He didn't wallow in self-pity when he looked at the hand he was dealt but, rather, had used it to become something better, something that no person couldn't take notice of whilst he stayed in the shadows, watching the world as it looked for him. That was the type of thing she wanted to do.

That was exactly what she was going to be.

Tobias wandered over to the black walls when he spoke, eyes inspecting the broken stage lights that sat overhead and the ruined cameras of whoever had owned the place, "You've got to make sure all of your moves are erratic. Feet remain on the floor for seconds at a time, if that. If you can keep them off ground that's even better."

"And if I can't?"

"Then you've got to find a way to. There's never an excuse. Mistakes make people die, and not the people we need to kill."

"How'd you get so good at this?" her questioning voice was back again, stressed with a whine that he could hardly stand, granted it had vanished sometime during her training, "It's difficult to get everything right. Takes forever."

"We haven't got forever," he reminded her softly, "So we better get the hang of it soon. My mother taught me."

"Where's she?"

Silence met the question, a silence that was weighted by years of regret and turmoil, anger and dusted memories. Little lockboxes sat where Tobias had tried to bury the thoughts that plagued him, yet somehow his mother's face always returned to his life. She was like the plague. But she had died, and the plague still had a chance of coming back.

"Dead."

"So she wasn't very good."

"She was the best, but a clown got her," the laughter from his lips was unnerving, something that Hannah hadn't come into contact with yet had heard from many sources meant death. It was with great reluctance that she remained stood there; something that Tobias noticed and admired about the young girl before him, their connection welded in ripped cloaks and broken glass.

"Clown?" her voice croaked.

"Joker," the name flooded recognition in her eyes, "That's where I'm from. That's where I've lived…it wasn't a nice town by any means, but you know what people are like. What they see on the surface is always what's true."

She smiled, "But nothing's true. You've mentioned that before."

"Of course things are true, but they're never the things we take at face value," he pointed to the lights, "They emit light – they do this via waves that we can't see, so we take it as beams. Those cameras?" he pointed to the derelict equipment that was clustered in a corner of the room, laced with cobwebs and white legged spiders, "They actually show still-frame images, but they go so fast that we think they're moving. And me?" the hand went to his chest, met by the other as he bent his knees to the ground, a sadistic smile on the visible bottom half of his face, "I'm a kid, but we're all murderers in our own way. Step on a snail; you've technically killed something."

The explanations were all such trivial things, though they made sense. They made sense in ways that Hannah hadn't even thought about. She never really took the time to think on how they viewed light or how the cameras changed still-frames into moving pictures, but it seemed that she'd have to get used to those types of views, to those types of brain games that Tobias seemed to have been born with.

"Hey, Knife Boy?" she called when he sat in the corner, the place that he had chosen to sleep until they decided which rooms were going to be theirs.

"Yeah?" came the exasperated reply.

"I've killed snails before."


	28. The Short Awakening

Tobias awoke in relative comfort, a blanket thrown over him as the soft armchair cradled him to sleep. Riddler wasn't there when his eyes sprung open – instead, there was only the gentle lull of a radio somewhere in the distance, light streaming through the window and caressing his rested features whilst the rest of the living room faded into his vision. The armchair, the fridge in the corner, the counter that Edward called his kitchen complete with kettle and teabags…it was just as he remembered, save the owner was absent.

A quick scan of the area found a note placed on the armrest, which Tobias quickly grabbed and read in an effort to fight off sleep;

_Toby; went out to buy some groceries. Food still in the cabinets if you're hungry. Shall return soon._

After a quick nod of understanding, Nightmare was on his feet and out of the window before anyone could arrive home. The streets were alive with a small crowd of early risers, mostly old men and dogs that stood on four shaky legs, sometimes three, whilst light flooded the darkest corners that the child used for shelter. He should have stayed at Riddler's apartment, at least until the night. He wasn't suited to day time.

Silence was hard to come by when he passed a park, filled with young children that screamed blue fury. There were parents that crowded them from all sides and watched whenever they approached an unfamiliar child – a scene that Tobias watched with interest, because he remembered the social implications of park friendships – though soon he had disappeared from the stretches of path and was in the trees, flipping between them so he could get back to Wayne Manor.

"Master Tobias didn't come home last night, sir," Alfred mentioned as he poured the morning tea, nonchalant and even despite the worry in his eyes, "I'm slightly concerned that he's run into trouble."

Bruce, who had woken up to the sound of Talia's screaming, sipped on the tea as he scanned through the morning headlines. They were all as tasteless as they were predictable, with Nightmare's hooded face plastered over black and white lines, the boy's apparent crime file plotted in small bullet points that went on for what seemed like pages. His mind reeled at some of them. From attempted murder to straight out butchery, there wasn't much that Nightmare hadn't done, save rescuing innocents from the pit of their self-pity.

And in his eyes, he had…

"He's fine," the billionaire said after what seemed like an age, "He's always fine."

But that day was different. And it would change Tobias in ways he couldn't yet imagine.


	29. Cold Ice, Broken Blades

For the second time that day, Tobias awoke. He recalled soaring through the air as he glided between treetops, the cries of children beneath him out of joy and not horror whilst parents giggled along with other parents they pretended to like. With aching joints he lifted his arm…and found himself unable to do so.

Restricted. Hands tied to armrests and legs tied to wooden ones, the chair underneath him creaked as though he were a hundred stones heavier. The room around him was plunged into darkness but he didn't care, hardly noticed the one fluorescent light that beamed down on him as he struggled against the new prison.

"Who's done this?!" came the cries, met only by silence whilst he felt unduly exposed. His cloak had been kidnapped and his knives – the precious, perfect knives that his mother had given him, carved from love and plated by the hardest of metals – were stolen, perhaps in the hands of some drunkard who didn't understand their worth. All that remained on Tobias were the insufferably smart clothes that his father had forced him to wear, displaying the British flag in some shape or form so he would look the part.

More silence invaded his skull, an unwanted intruder that he had once welcomed into his life. It was ironic that the one thing he had searched for was the one thing he didn't want; like nails scratching against a chalk board or the squeal of a baby, it grated against his nerves until he felt them fray.

"You're going to die for this," he vowed in a low, menacing tone, "You're going to die and I'm going to love every minute of it. I'm going to rip your innards out!" still silence met him and showed no signs of stopping, save a soft half-chuckle that came in a sort of breeze, "I'll tie them round your neck and strangle you!" the laughter became a sort of cackle, much more noticeable than it had been as his eyes began to make out shapes; a desk, a plant and…a shelf? "You'll choke on your own blood!"

"Shut it up, will you?" oh, he remembered that voice. He remembered it all the way back from the Asylum, when he was but a budding young assassin forming his techniques, though that didn't invoke warm memories. Rather, it made his blood boil more.

"Quincy Sharp," the mutter was more an unspoken threat, a reminder of an agreement and a contract unfulfilled, "You bastard. You think these ties are enough? I'll be out and slicing your stomach open before dinnertime."

Strange that there were no windows, but Nightmare had been blind before. He knew that the strained voice of the schizophrenic meant that he was tired, and that implied that the darkness had fallen long before he had woken up. Rope bit into his wrists as he fought against his restraints; it was a harsh rope that he only recalled one person using, granted that person was…

"Hello Nightmare," that voice…that voice that had haunted his dreams and worsened his nightmares, making everything bittersweet whenever he thought about it. Slowly, a knife brushed against the pulsating jugular that hid underneath his scar, a scarred finger traced the contours of his neck as he bit his lip hard. "I've been looking for you."

Willing all the fear out of his voice, he replied quietly, "George. What took you so long?"

There was that soft chuckle as he walked round the chair, bringing himself into the light as two blue eyes gazed down at the captive, cold and crazy, an ocean thickened by blood. His face was hidden but that garish yellow outfit but still Tobias knew him, and he could practically feel the power pulsating from his fingertips.

"You're tricky to find," the admission came softly as a glinting blade was pressed against his cheek, "I've been looking for a long time. Have you turned into a hermit, Nightmare? I couldn't find you in the corners, in the shadows, in the trees. Well," that glint returned for a moment, "I suppose I did find you in them eventually."

Spit landed on his cheek when the boy replied, "I didn't let you find me, so you didn't. Don't you remember that lesson, George?"

"George? This man's name isn't George," bumbling Quincy interrupted the faceoff between them, though eye contact remained unnervingly unbroken, "It's Lyell."

"Still not telling them the truth? What're you using to blind them, hm?" Tobias's eyes were cold, "Your mind always was irritatingly right."

"Electric impulses charged directly to the temples. Causes short-term memory loss; that, or insanity. Seems Sharp doesn't need the insanity bid."

"Clever. Now, if you're going to kill me, I'd rather you do it without all the talking. I've got grandparents waiting for me – you understand, don't you?"

Another small nick from the blade, "I wanted to kill you so bad. But this? This isn't how I want to do it." the spit still hung from the edge of his mask, wet and bubbly and so satisfying for Tobias to see, "I wanted you on your feet. I wanted it to be fair, between you and me, so we know exactly who the winner is."

"Like when you killed Hannah? Was that fair, or was it just you making do with what you had?"

"She was…she was a sad one to kill, especially because you liked her so," that glittering pain, like the finest picture, "But I'll kill you. And I'll enjoy every minute of you fighting for your life in my hands, empty, dying, and you can't do anything about it."

There was silence. Quincy, who had taken to drinking and watching the scene in front of him, tried his best not to see the child for a child. Instead he reminded himself of all the deaths and contracts, many of which had been his own, and smiled as he took another sip of scotch.

"So what're you going to do?"

"I'm…" a moment of hesitation let Tobias remember everything he had seen that man do, let him inspect the calloused fingertips that erupted lightning and killed people without them realising it. It was a moment before Haywire spoke again, "I'm going to let you go."

He smirked, "All that trouble just to let me go? Aren't you a clever one."

"But you'll have to look over your shoulder. You'll have to remember that I'm out there, watching you, waiting until you least expect it until I finally rip your throat out. I'm the better assassin, Nightmare. I'm the better assassin, and I'll make sure you know that."

And before he could protest, all went black…


	30. Surgery

Lights. Flashing machines. Objects whirling past half-lidded eyes.

Nightmare couldn't move.

Someone shouted beside him, but it sounded far off. Blood trickled like a fountain from his nose but it didn't feel like blood; rather, it was water that poured, running from his nostrils in a cascade that he might have once admired. A warm hand enveloped his own as witchy green eyes looked down at him, though whose eyes were a complete mystery.

"He's losing blood," what he believed to be a doctor, granted his perception was hazy and his thoughts were a muddle. Why would he be losing blood? All he could remember was Haywire standing before him, telling him that his days were numbered but, at least for that day, he could continue breathing. The blackness had taken him far before those wounds were inflicted, and whom they hailed from was a complete mystery.

"Save him," softly, a voice that he recognised drifted to his eardrums. He looked up to see the eyes had gained a face, features, whilst there was suddenly a body beside the red-stained bed he laid on. The hand that held his so tightly was warmer still; a smile came to his lips and all sense of confusion left him, off to plague a dying woman's mind as she thought her final thoughts.

"Edward…"

"How did you find him in such bad shape?" Joker was at his side, if people believed in irony, "Looks like he's gone eight rounds with a python wrapped around Mike Tyson."

The eyes left him to stare at the white face, red lipstick smeared generously over actually pink lips and green hair a mad tangle atop the face. If it were anyone else, Riddler would have killed or at the very least, rebuked them. But it was the Joker, a man with an army, and that meant he was strictly off limits.

"Evening stroll," he explained as his hand tightened around Nightmare's small digits, protective despite all that had happened, "I was wandering through the park and came across him lying in the bushes, looking like this." To emphasise his point he gestured to the black and blue child, beaten by some unknown assailant that every supervillian had an instant grudge against. It was one thing to masquerade as a hero and shine a bad light on their own kind, but it was another matter entirely when they hurt one of the best and brightest.

Tobias groaned in agony when Crane gently shifted his leg, which looked to be broken. His bones were stronger than most children's after his harsh regime but, for the most part, they were relatively weak when compared to other specimen's, such as fully grown men or a handful of the other villains on file. Hands fell to his face to shush him, gentle and delicate, instantly recognised to be Harley from her strangely soothing tone.

"Hay-Haywire…" he choked out seconds before blood touched his lips, making them slick and difficult to mash together, "He…He's found…"

It was actually Joker who silenced him, "Don't get up on our account, old boy. Scarecrow here will have you fixed up in no time." There was that wicked cackle before he fell quiet again, most likely due to a harsh glare from Riddler as the criminal twirled his cane. Crane, who had been carefully applying pressure to the most worrying of Nightmare's injuries, took the time to look up and gaze about at the men beside him, men that he was supposed to be working with but couldn't quite stomach.

"Will you fetch my assistant?" he asked with that quiet menace, like he was seconds away from painting his surgery red. If he weren't drifting from consciousness and actually had some notion of what was going on around him, Tobias might have smiled.

Might have.

"Which one? Bolt-Boy or Whiter than a Ghost?"

"Neither. I've got a girl quite eager to raise her position; call her Sally, and please don't mention her prosthetic limbs. They're quite noticeable."

If that didn't raise Tobias's curiousity, nothing would. For a moment his mind wandered over which limb she had lost and how she had come to lose it, perhaps in a car accident that had rid her of both parents, whilst the agonising sting of his sore muscles made him want to lose himself to unconsciousness. He wouldn't lose the fight. He wouldn't shut his eyes and actually go back to sleep, not when he knew he had a fighting chance.

"Haywire has to DIE." Was his insistence, and it was met by a gentle shushing from Harley's blobby figure as she stepped into the light, makeup running from where she had been out in the rain. One window poured in a cold breeze which made Nightmare realise, with a slight curse for not being fully aware, that there was actually a blanket thrown over him.

"And he will," Riddler whispered as his hand gently stroked the child's hair, brushing it away from the dark green eyes that were normally hidden by a hood, "But first, you've got to rest. It's more important that you recover."

All that replied Edward was a slowly building fire, alive in the child's eyes like all he wanted was to kill George. Nothing would be okay. Nothing would settle and make him feel better until that man's blood was flowing from his fingertips, perfect, gushing and satisfying.

"Let me up."

"Prep him for surgery," he couldn't see the girl that had just entered, giggling maniacally at something he was sure Joker had said.

"Surgery?!"

"Just something to make you feel more relaxed, Nightmare," assured the calm voice of Crane before there was a needle at his throat, yellow eyes in his whilst the world began to fade, "All criminals are in it together, aren't we?"


	31. Time

The surgery was painful and performed without anaesthetic, which was just how Nightmare liked it. When the scalpel had cut through his skin, he was able to feel it. When Crane had injected him with the fear gas to assure just the right amount of struggling, he had seen every horrifying image that passed his eyes, every mangled depiction of Hannah and his mother that was available in his twisted little imagination. It could only mean one thing.

He was really alive.

But Haywire had found him once, and that meant he would find him again. It was the first time Tobias had actually fallen short of expectation, had actually been foolish enough to take a risk that led to something catastrophic happening, which was an unpleasant experience at best. As he lay hooked up to an IV watching the sky go from black to pink, his mind worked slowly on what his next moves would be.

He could have sped up his plans without the aid of his grandfather, yet that thought made his stomach twist in anxiety. With the likes of Joker and Quinn on his team, Nightmare needed someone he could vaguely predict, someone he could possibly fall back on and use as a sort of cannon fodder if things got bad. Ra's was nothing if not predictable. His idealistic view of things and continued use of the Lazarus pit had left him quite insane, just enough to have a psyche that Tobias knew how to exploit, which could have only further deteriorated after his daughter's death. His grandfather was practically his human shield if the worst came to the worst, and he couldn't imagine leaving him behind.

That led him to think about abandoning the plan all together and going for a new course of action, though that required a lot of extra time. Time he didn't have. If it weren't for Riddler handling most of the behind the scenes arrangements, Tobias wouldn't have been able to cobble together what he already had. No; if he was going to do anything, it would be to go ahead with his original blueprints.

And finally, he thought about running. If he escaped with his life, he would have claimed some sort of victory over the arrogant, self-centred Haywire, with his eyes bigger than his stomach and his power sharper than his knives. But then the idea of leaving behind his sweet Hannah and not claiming vengeance came over his mind, and he discarded that thought almost as quickly as it had come about. He knew that one of them would die – if George killed him, he would have failed that sweet faced young sprite he had trained from a guppy.

"How are the joints?" he was pulled from his thoughts by Edward's familiar voice, drifting in from the opened doorway that flooded with weak light. His skinny form was a black splodge to Nightmare, whose eyesight had been too accustom to the dark to see the softer details of his friend, the man who had stayed to be sure he was recovering.

But the boy was determined not to show weakness. With great pains he struggled to his elbows, resting on them as a small grunt escaped his lips and he gazed down at the smart clothes his father forced him in, ripped and bloodied as a result of the surgery. It was the only thing that brought a smile to his face.

"Careful!" Edward was suddenly at his side, his hands steady on his back to help the boy rise, "You've had quite the procedure. Doctor Crane mentioned something about a ruptured spleen."

"You sure he didn't rupture it?" the words came out as a half-hearted huff of laughter, something that was rare for Tobias when he found himself in such pain.

"Joker's not here. Now's not the time for jokes."

Was that genuine concern in Riddler's eyes? For a moment the child wondered, nervous that he had tumbled into something that would be more than difficult to extract himself from, but he relented as he let his head fall back on the pillow. At least that was plump enough to catch him, seemingly sterile despite the ruins of the room he laid in. Old bookcases were lined with dusty tomes, many of which he recalled reading when he was but a small infant, and the window beside him was larger than all of Gotham, at least from the angle he was lying at.

"What's the damage?" his tone returned to business, hoping that he could regain his footing and turn their relationship back to platonic, self-serving platforms.

Riddler's hand carefully touched the bruised cheek of his companion, his slim fingers cautious as they traced the ugly purple outline, the dappled blue specks, "Apart from the spleen, the impact's minimal. His professional opinion is eight weeks resting, but his criminal opinion is five days and a lot of smuggled painkillers." Another chuckle from Tobias, one that racked his aching ribcage and made the stitches in his stomach pulse.

"Give me a day and I'll be fine."

"No," the fingers tightened over his wrist, uncovered due to his cloak hanging aimlessly over one of his bedposts, just waiting to be taken up again and put to good use, "You've got to rest longer than that." cold green eyes met Riddler's as the two stared at each other, determined that their counterpart wouldn't get their own way and unwilling to compromise.

"Haywire can find me."

"Not out here he can't."

"He's done it once. I'm treading on thin ice here, Nigma – spleen or not, I've got to be on my feet before tonight."

"For the sake of your Lord, will you stop calling me Nigma?" the villain suddenly started rubbing his temples as if frustrated with the boy, "Call me Edward."

Tobias turned his head to stubbornly look out of the window, watching as the sun slowly rose and the moonlight began to disappear, "I'm heading out tonight, Riddler. You can't stop me."

Further away in the heart of Gotham city, Alfred was nervous. Two days had passed and they had seen neither hide nor hair of Tobias, which would have been the norm a few years ago. Indeed, it would have been the norm if that whole situation hadn't befallen them and the boy was back with his mother, off to live a life of criminality without his father's input. But Nightmare had become somewhat of a hermit over his time with them, rarely leaving his room unless he had to make a quick visit to unknown allies, making the butler fear for his young master's safety.

"No sign of Tobias, sir?" he asked casually at breakfast, his master's hair ruffled and the dark circles under his eyes like crescent moons, "He's been absent for over forty-eight hours now. Do you think it's time to utilise those satellites and take a look across Gotham?"

Bruce brought steaming hot tea to his lips as he let out a sigh, "Never worked before. Not sure why it'd work now." That sense of defeat was something Alfred was very much used to, especially when it came to Tobias and his unique disappearing abilities.

"We can't simply leave him, can we sir?"

"He'll turn up when he wants to turn up. Alfred, did you set the computer for the calibrations?"

"I did, sir," his voice was resigned, as if he knew that he had lost the argument and he would have to wait until Bruce was in a more agreeable mood. The glorious setting around them did nothing for his master's foul temper, which continued on as the day went by.

Edward didn't leave Tobias. They took up reading to pass the time, with the villain going through Sigmund Freud and their discussions tampering on the subtle implications of his theories, what it would mean for the world if they were to suddenly conform to all that was Freud.

Tobias watched when the sun began to rake down, "Today was nice."

"We should really do it again some time," Edward agreed readily as he put the book to the side, jarring the lamp slightly whilst he tried to make a place on Nightmare's bedside table.

"Hm. It's time that I paid a visit to someone."


	32. Alfred Pennyworth

Alfred quietly went about his work, cleaning pots and pans and arranging some of the papers that Bruce had left lying around, his thoughts on his master's missing son.

The boy hadn't been seen in a week. A whole five days since his last conversation with the ever-determined Wayne, and Tobias had yet to return. The nights flitted by whilst the butler worried, knowing that a thousand different people could have found him, a thousand different people who all had a vendetta and a will to do things no human should be able to do. Haywire could have come across him. The police could have him custody, no reports so that torture could be used without any problems. Some of the criminals that roamed the streets could have nabbed him just as easily as they could've broken his neck, leaving him for dead in some God forsaken alleyway in the same pose as Bruce's parents. The thought sent shivers down his spine.

With a touch as gentle as a soft toy's fur, Alfred carefully laid out some of the documents that Bruce had collected over the years, each one more secret than the last and depicting some of humanity's worst crimes. They had once sat in a box that the billionaire kept under his bed, probably as a reminder to what he was fighting against, but over the years they had slowly made their way downstairs, locked into a cabinet that had only two keys. Alfred never thought he'd have to use his one.

One packet held what he needed. It had an ugly stamp across it that read, in bold black letters, 'TOP SECRET – CASE FILE #921, AKA HOODED NIGHTMARE.' With a great sigh the butler began to gently cut the seal, knowing full well that he was delving into things he didn't have any business in.

The tape he was looking for sat inside the beige folder and he debated whether he wanted to watch it, because that meant he couldn't turn back. He had watched as his master became more and more absorbed in the boy's lifestyle, his entire world put on hold so he could watch just a little more, study a little further into the twisted mind that was his son and, somehow, find out if there was any hope for rehabilitation. As Alfred twirled the little black tape in his fingers and thought about those things, he became all the more determined to watch it. He had to know what went through Tobias's head.

In his own room sat a plasma screen television that he rarely turned on, a bed that he never slept on and an en suite bathroom which was scarcely used, put aside for the common bathroom that was just a little bit smaller and up two more flights of stairs. A crystal chandelier dangled inches above the four poster bed that the old man sat on, white sheets beneath him crisp and clean as he fumbled for the television remote, and the tape securely locked in his old video player that he had found in a yard sale. There was a brief moment of hesitation when he asked himself what viewing it would accomplish, before he clicked the play button.

A haunting German accent filled his room, "Are you comfortable, Nightmare?" on screen was a black and white image of the boy Alfred had waited on, his hands restrained whilst he shot his interrogator a repulsed look. Feet that would carry him away were tied to floor and the chair itself – modified with a special back-breaking stature and made out of shining metal – seemed to keep him fixed into place, as if he were a simple doll in need of placing. His eyelids drooped like he was on drugs. Judging by the giggling and giddy pleasure of his captor, it mustn't have been far from the truth.

"Go to Hell, Strange."

"I'm not far from it," assured the man as the sound of trickling water echoed, "You're the single most accomplished criminal in my facility, with complete disregard for human life and a delusion. It's been interesting watching you squirm."

"I wasn't aware that you've been keeping tabs on me. Far as I remember, you threw me in Arkham City."

"The cameras."

"Are all destroyed. I did the ones around my area, and a few of the others got destroyed by different people. I know where the rest of them are but, for your sake and for not letting TYGER die before I can get my hands on them, I leave them alone." That cocky grin was just like Bruce's at his age, all those years ago when he was deciding how to make Gotham good again.

"You'll be killed in these walls, Tobias."

The boy sat upright through the haze of his mind, glaring into the camera as if he was actually watching Alfred in a sort of trance, a prediction of the future that he didn't know was coming.

"Why don't you ask me those questions?"


	33. Ward

When Tobias returned home, he was unnerved by the Alfred's attention. The butler was careful to make sure everything was to his liking, going as far to rearrange his room so that the window was always in sight and the bed didn't block the door even the slightest bit; it made Nightmare wonder what he had done, though he daren't ask.

Why waste such a golden opportunity?

The old man was close friends with his father. Where Tobias had failed to unlock the Batman's secrets, Alfred had a clear and in depth understanding of what made him tick, the equipment he used and perhaps even the databases in which he stored everything. He would use the sudden interest in his well-being some time in the future, especially when it came to their final showdown. Batman wouldn't have the option to escape.

"Thank you," he breathed through gritted teeth as his fingers clasped the table, Alfred's quick hands serving some sort of soup to him on the finest china they had. Buttered bread sat at the edge – a little surprise that the child hadn't asked for, granted paranoia made him wonder if poison was at play – and there was a beautiful spoon that sat engraved with Bruce's initials, as though it had been made for the billionaire once in his infancy.

"That's not a problem, master Tobias." That was the only thing that irritated the assassin; 'Master Assassin.' He hated such an abrasive title, one that implied he was above the sophisticated man that stood beside him and that, somehow, his parentage made him something special. It was through sheer will that he didn't reprimand him.

The spoon met reddened soup before he realised that Alfred still watched him, which made him remember Riddler's soft gazes and even softer hands. With dangerously tender hands he had helped the boy to his feet before turning, allowing him the dignity to disappear as he normally would until they met again, quite possibly in his dingy apartment that no one really loved. Tobias had watched whilst the darkness began to surround them, shadows cast over his boyish features before he grabbed his cloak and disappeared out the window. Edward must have been growing attached to him.

He couldn't imagine what he would do if Alfred was the same.

"Why the sudden interest in me?" the challenge was clear in his voice as the butler went about the dining room, straightening things that were impeccably straight and dusting things that had been dusted that morning, as though invisible guests had just surprised him with a visit. Two eyes turned to stare at the hooded boy, mouth placed cautiously against the spoon so he could slurp up his soup.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

Tobias searched his unreadable expression but could find nothing, which infuriated him to the point of sighing, "Why are you making changes for me? Why are you acting so nice? Don't think I don't know what you think of me – you've hated me from day one, despised everything I've done. So…why the sudden interest in how I'm doing?" whilst he spoke Tobias pushed his soup away, as if to emphasise his point that the pair weren't friends.

Alfred's balding head glinted in the artificial light above them, shining like it had been polished specially for his meagre job. Rarely did the Nightmare decide that he wanted to confront someone, especially when that someone was being kind to him and foolishly letting him make a place in their hearts, but the thought of another person getting attached terrified him. He needed to be able to disappear. There was no question that too many friends could cause him to stay, could cause death.

"Merely tending to you, sir." That's one thing that Nightmare liked about the butler. He didn't mince words when he spoke; unable to deny that he actually detested what the child had done and the blood that surely stained his hands, he didn't. Instead they spared a fierce glare towards each other, one that could shatter worlds if it dared get too close to them, determined to know which one of them would strike first.

"You expect me to believe that?" he asked in a low growl, abandoning his seat so he could climb on the table and adopt his most threatening stance. With a leg stretched out in front of him and a hand placed on his blade, thankfully returned after the unfortunate incident with Haywire, his knee ached as he balanced himself on it, but it was all worth it to see Alfred step back and grasp at whatever weapon he could use.

"Tobias-"

"Why are you being so kind?" the threat in his voice was clear if the fear was not; unluckily for Nightmare, the butler he was confronting had a history of seeing right through people, so it took him no time to notice the little flash in his green eyes and the slight hitch in breath. He dropped the glass in his hand in favour of a smile, one that somehow calmed the creature that had awakened in the boy.

"Because I felt that you needed a warm hand," he replied with his own outstretched, "I thought that you would like to see someone welcoming rather than condemning. I know it's a bit hard to let people in but, well, aren't I Batman's ward?"

Tobias took the hand and slowly pulled himself from the table, though his gaze never wavered. He wouldn't ever fully trust that man that gripped his hand so warmly, his smile softer than a teddy bear wrapped in two duvets.

"What're you hiding?"

"Nothing, master Tobias."

"Hm," he pulled away, thankful for the coldness that seeped around his hand, "I'll have to take your word for it."


	34. Grandfather Hear Me

"You'll die here."

"Like I haven't heard that before."

Tobias stood in the biggest cesspit he had ever seen, surrounded by shattered glass and broken bits of what had once been a container, the metal dented as he inspected it in his hands. No light pierced the roof above them, perhaps the only thing that had survived the seismic onslaught all those years ago, yet he was grateful for it. He didn't want to see the withered features of a man without his pit, the same man whose seed had gifted his mother life.

And whose hands had condemned her to death.

"Why're you here?" Ra's asked with his face masked by shadow, hiding the weathered features that plagued him and the thinning grey hair atop his head that tangled into itself, slow to fall from his liver-spotted scalp. As he tried to hide away Tobias saw all his weakness; all those fears of morality still glowed in his yellow eyes, a side effect of the Lazarus Pit and its continued abuse.

A moment of silence found the child closer to his grandfather. It was the type of closeness that brought with it menace, as though both were seconds away from having their necks sliced open and anything of value robbed from their corpses. Anger made him careful – hatred made him distrusting of Ra's, even in his weakened state, granted it was evident that the frail arms and lacklustre gape meant that whatever fight he put up would be pitiful.

"I'm trying to get a little team together. A few criminals are on board and, for the most part, they've been pretty good."

"So why does this concern me?"

"Because I need to know if there's anything you," two green eyes met the yellow ones of Ra's, who seemed all too confused about the situation he'd been thrown into, "can help me with. I mean in the general terms of muscle, ninjas, my mother's forces; nothing that you haven't already got."

Fire crackled where there had been confusion, "You can't be serious! I'm not giving you my entire fleet!"

"Need I remind you that I'm the heir to it? If you don't give me the fleet, I can leave you without someone to take them over, and we both know how fragile your life is right now. Without me, there's nothing you can do to stop the world from falling."

And as though it already had, Ra's looked at his grandson in a new light. Yes, Talia had died. Talia had died and there was no longer someone who could take his place should he do the same, which was inconvenient considering his impending mortality. That boy that stood in the pool of darkness – he was the future of the League, no matter how his grandfather wanted to look at it.

"What exactly do you need?" he asked in a voice laced by recognition, sitting on the shattered throne that had once been his base of operations, sighing deeply into the gloom that surrounded them.

"What indeed?" came the soft reply.


	35. Contract

Cold wind blew bitterly over Tobias as he searched for an open window, his eyes sharp to anything that could have given him entrance. In that derelict apartment block was his latest contract, perhaps even the person she had wronged; a boyfriend or a jilted lover, a child that didn't appreciate her alcoholism; a boisterous old woman downstairs who refused to accept her constant noise; it was all relatively dull to the child whilst he kept looking for access, his only hope that he would soon be asleep and wouldn't have to be so wary of the outdoors.

Eight weeks. Eight weeks he'd been in Gotham and every moment of it was evident on his face. Where there had once been light was suddenly darkness, the laughter of his voice completely trampled upon as each sapling of life he grew was sprayed with pesticide, stampeded by a herd of angry buffalo and their Gotham-approved positions. Each movement he made was mechanical as he thrust open one of the shattered windows, slipping in as easily as he would an abandoned household whilst the world continued on.

The dreams were growing to hamper his thoughts. Oh some were sweet, drenched in Haywire's blood as he danced over the villain's shattered corpse, though others forced him to wake prematurely with screams ripping through his body. They struck him to the core, hitting every fear and hint of self-loathing he had when he thought about the fair Hannah, how she would have been hitting her birthday soon, how they would have celebrated with a non-contracted kill.

Alfred had noticed. He'd tried his best to be awake for the child when he found himself screaming, always on call should the need for him arise. Most normally Tobias would simply disappear to one of his dozens of safe-houses and work on his plans but once – and it'd only been because he awoke during a storm – he had allowed the butler to come in and sit upon his bed, telling him a story from the book Bruce's mother used to read him.

There wasn't much to be said for his father; the man was suspicious of him, and he could tell. He proclaimed love and kept him on the tightest leash available, his only alleviation being when he snuck out to visit Riddler or went about his contracts, yet whether those actions were of sound mind or not hadn't been revealed to the child. Walking on thin ice had never been his strong suit, but the pool of his life had become plagued with it.

The dingy hallway he walked in was surrounded by shadow. He smiled, feeling strangely at ease as he wandered through the unmanned corridors, finding bits of left over syringes here and there and the occasional prize of twenty cents, each one in his pocket for any unforeseen emergencies. Darkness shrouded him, his footsteps scarcely audible despite the weight in his heart – his heart that had withered over some time and remained only for his quest in vengeance.

Another kill. Another kill, another contract…another missed opportunity.


	36. Sapphire

Riddler sat in his apartment waiting as he had done so often before. His head was propped against his hand, frame tucked neatly on his armchair whilst he watched that open window, his eyes sharp to the cool air drifting in and the dark belt above him studded with platinum stars, disturbed only by the odd aeroplane silhouette.

Tobias. The name left an odd taste on his tongue. Of all the things that he would have named that little boy, whether he were a schoolchild or that deadly assassin he had come to care for, Tobias wouldn't have been one of them. Clarence, perhaps. Phillip was a good one, too. But now that he had learnt that Nightmare – Tobias – was in fact named something normal, it took a lot of the uneasiness out of his thoughts. Maybe there was still a chance for him to get closer to the child? Maybe there was still a shred of humanity behind those lifeless eyes, the ones that glowered at their targets before they were splattered once more with blood, as though the cycle of life had thrust itself upon his shoulders and he had no say in the matter.

Of course, he didn't talk about his kills in specific detail. There was the odd jest when they were clambered around the coffee table, a few well-meant jabs that Nightmare had thrown into their conversations and swept away before any questions could be asked, but those were the only times he would talk of them. Other than that, it were as though they didn't happen. Night would fall to cast shadows across his face and, like the deadly villain he was known to be, he would vanish into the dark abyss that was his namesake, taking with him every hint of normality and hope that he had given to the Riddler.

"Daydreaming?" snatched out of his trance by a haunting voice, Edward leapt off of his seat in search for his cane. Wild eyes went wilder as he noticed the vague disturbance by his window, far too large to have been Tobias, which only quickened his already fumbling hand and put desperation in his words.

"Who are you?!" the shadow remained unmoved as the trademark green trophy was pointed at him, a blade hidden just beneath the plastic, "Why're you in my house?!"

"I'd hardly call this a house. More a hovel."

His observation only made Edward angrier, "Don't dodge the question! Need I remind you that with my superior intellect, I'm liable to have booby trapped the place?! You could be standing in one of my cleverly devised mechanisms right now and not even know it!"

"I've seen Tobias slip in and out of here every night without injury. If you had booby trapped this…home…he would've already set them off."

The shadow was right. Edward had always neglected to put those schematics in his bedroom to any use, their blue plotted lines and white measurements left to rot as he became preoccupied with more important things. If it weren't for his partner's arrival all those days ago and his sudden participation in Nightmare's plans, the devises would have already been finished.

But since Riddler no longer had regrets – needless things that wasted a man's life and streaked his mane silver – he opted to just stare at the person before him, teeth clenched hard together as the tension rose in his little apartment. It would only take a twitch to make him strike. It would only take one little movement on the shadow's half for Edward to have flown at him, like they were barbarians and the entire coliseum was cheering them on.

"Who are you?" the words came out as a squeak, and the shadow seemed to chuckle slightly whilst his shoulders fell a centimetre. Relaxing was a bad move to make when he was in such a delicate situation, balanced precariously on the edge of what could be life or death.

"I'm someone interested in learning where he is," he replied in a low, menacing tone, "That's all you need to know for now."

Riddler saw the slight glint in his sapphire eyes, about the only things visible in the dark emanating from the corner, "I'll need more specifics. Don't think I want you running after my partner without good reason for it. He's much too busy."

"So, it's 'partner' then?"

"We've been known to deal with each other once in a while. He's a useful ally."

"My daughter thought the same thing. Now, she's dead," those sapphires were suddenly away from that apartment, off in a land where pain and suffering ruled all. Agony tore through the irises that could reduce a man to mere ask as the shadow staggered forward, collapsing heavily on the coffee table in which Riddler had worked with that boy he searched for. Nothing made sense. Everything was painful when he imagined his beautiful daughter, ripped away from him in her youthful prime.

But Edward was sceptical, "She was an assassin if she was part of Nightmare's group. She'd have known the risks."

"He told her," words came out in gargled forms, strangled before they passed against the porcelain white teeth and quivering lips of the shadow before him, "He told her, but she didn't listen. Now she's dead. Now she's dead and I'll never get her back. He needs to pay for what he's done to me."

And just like that he was up on his feet again, barrelling into Riddler before he could make sense of the situation. Two rough hands pinned him to his chair, encircled around his neck to press on his weak larynx and perhaps crush his oesophagus, because anyone that consorted with Tobias needed to die. No one deserved to have lived where his daughter had died. No one deserved death more than that little 'leader' that had stolen her away with delusions, filling her head with them until she couldn't tell which end was up.

"He's…not…here!" if Edward was to die, he would die honourably, "He's not been here for days!"

"Then why were you waiting for him?!"

"He drops in when I'm least expecting it! Grates on my nerves, so I opted for waiting!" the dim light of his ceiling was becoming dimmer as the hands squeezed tighter around him. Darkness from the corners of his room leapt to cover the place, cloaking every lit surface with a coat of black and forcing him to remember childhood.

The man above him was replaced by his father, the smell of alcohol so unbearable that it was all Riddler could do not to splutter up his supper. Rough hands were suddenly as smooth as butter whilst the grip itself became vice-like, and he squeaked in protest when they found a particularly tender part of his neck. That was how he would die. He would die surrounded by the memory of his childhood, his father's drunk rages and his mother's soft voice screaming in the background, which was a comfort that had been prevalent throughout his growing up.

"She's dead because of him!" if Riddler hadn't known any better, he would have thought the eyes were shouting louder than his voice. The grey features that floated above him, weathered and worn by both grief and time, were made ugly only by the striking beauty of his eyes, the blue jewels that would have once made any woman swoon. Pain bolted through Edward almost as deeply as they did those depths, though his thoughts of what poetic muses they were had been halted by the tightness of his throat.

"He's…sorry!"

The world fell prey to the darkness.


End file.
